From: SAGReiss
Date: 5 April 2000
Subject: The Mount of Sodom
An American professor of Iranian origin who's too cheap to pay $280 to
register his wife for the accompanying persons (or person's, or persons',
there's some controversy about this at work. My argument trumps all: "No
one will understand what the fucking apostophe means anyway, so who cares
if it might have some esoteric grammatical justification, which is not very
strong anyway, since the plural of 'person' is 'people'.") program asked
me to find a two-day tour for her. It's useless anyway, which is what I explained
to him, since the Dead Sea is two hours drive from Jerusalem, where such
a tour would depart from each morning. So I tried to sell him the accomanying
persons program. I looked in the brochure, one day Judean Desert, one day
Massada, then I find this breathless description of a tour to the Mount of
Sodom. "Daniel, what can I call the tour to the Mount of Sodom?" "What do
you mean? Call it the Mount of Sodom." No one laughed, and none of the girls
said: "Oh, Gabriel," so I knew I'd have to be a little more explicit. To
a German, a Hamburger is a person or thing from Hamburg, and a Frankfurter
is a person or thing from Frankfurt. To a Frenchman, Cognac and Champagne
are places before being beverages. So to an Israeli, Sodom is a place, not
an act. "Daniel, it means something else in English. If I tell this guy that
his wife will have a thrilling and unforgettable experience on the Mount
of Sodom, there's going to be trouble." I logged in more than eighty hours
of OT last month. I earned a decent wage even by American standards, though
not for that kind of schedule. I am in fact one of Ortra's best-paid employees,
since I am the only one who gets paid OT. I have no idea why this is. It
was written into my letter of employment, which is basically a contract.
I didn't ask for it, though I would never have worked unpaid OT. Perhaps
they knew that an American would simply never put up with that shit, or maybe
they just didn't think I'd put in so many hours, or stick with the job. In
fact I've grown with it. I've learned an awful lot about 'puters, and am
now basically a competent travel agent, though I don't know about flight
bookings yet. We really do that through our outgoing travel department, which
is a pain in the ass since the cunts never read or answer their fucking e-mail,
and they're located on the ground floor while we, who actually make money,
live in the Penthouse. The main thing is, find a travel agent you can trust
and do what he says because he's not only trying to make a little money and
spare himself a little work. When he tells you, "I would recommend changing
your flight reservations and taking our Pre-Tour to Jordan," it's also because
this is not Belgium, and this is not Canada. Some people may walk on water
in Israel, everyone may float in the Dead Sea, but you still can't rent a
car here and go there, and they don't issue visas at every crossing point.
The chief invited speaker wrote to me: "This means I can't go to Jordan.
Thank you very much indeed." I showed the message to my boss, saying: "This
motherfucker is going to be trouble." "He can kiss my ass. You offered him
three possibilities. Let him swim to Jordan."
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 7 April 2000
Subject: Speaking in Tongues
"Ani rotse ciboulette," I pointed to the chives. "Be eze safa ciboulette?"
"Tsorfatit," I answered meaning, "In French." Everyone loves me at the Tikva
(Hope) casbah. I point to what I want and pay what they want. It's a comfortable
arrangement for me, and they don't have to haggle about argurot, which are
Israeli cents and have a negative worth in dollars. At the supermarket some
old lady was babbling at me: "Ani lo mevin ivrit," I said, meaning that
I don't understand Hebrew. So she began babbling at me in Russian: "Ani
lo mevin russit," I said, meaning, well you should know what that means by
now, if you've been paying attention. "Eze safa ata mevin?" and you should
know what that means, if I tell you that "ata" means "you (m.)". She was
getting flustered. "Ani mevin anglit ve tsorfatit." No translation necessary.
So she babbled at me in English. This is a multilingual land, a polyglot
place. It keeps things interesting. I can understand almost everything that
I want to understand at work. I don't want to understand too much. This way
I seldom have to answer the phone, and everyone who calls me is immediately
put at an extreme disadvantage. I let them talk for about five minutes, then
I say: "Ani mitstayer, aval ani lo mevin ivrit," mitstayer meaning "sorry".
There is no copula in the present tense in Hebrew. You can guess what "aval"
means. (Hint: it's a coordinating conjunction.) It's shameful that I can't
speak Hebrew, but I really have no need of it. At work we speak English and
French. Most of the swearing goes on in English and French, even if the people
are talking Hebrew. Only Daniel, my boss and nemesis, swears a lot in Arabic.
(There isn't much swearing in the Hebrew language.) His favorite expressions
are: "Cus em mec," meaning "Your mother's cunt," and "Go suck off a Chinese
camel," which I can't remember and don't quite understand. Are there camels
in China?
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 7 April 2000
Subject: Les Structures elementaires de la parente
Todd, your readers might be interested in reading Claude Levi-Strauss,
the founder of structuralism before he answered his calling and moved to
San Francisco to take acid and sew blue jeans. He, of course, had read Freud
and Saussure, so he understood these things. You can recommend such books
as Les Structures elementaires de la parente and L'Anthropologie structurale.
Your naive friend at the Washington Post writes:
"Both partners sharing sex and money seems such a better arrangement than
exchanging the two - and all the games that go with that exchange."
Could someone please explain to me how "both partners sharing sex and money"
is different from "exchanging the two"? The former is simply one way of
doing the latter. This exact kind of confusion is beautifully shown in the
article in salon whose link follows. (OK, so today's my stupid links day.)
The problem in the article is how Alan Greenspan misunderstands property
because he mistakes it for a natural or "inalienable" right, as does the
United States Declaration of Independence and Constitution.
The idea of collective ownership of the means of production is only slightly
less absurd than the idea of collective ownership of the means of reproduction.
Both of these problems were pretty much solved in the nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries by bearded, cigar-smoking men from German-speaking central
Europe. Of course your readers don't bother reading Marx and Freud, let
alone Saussure and Levi-Strauss, so how could they know? I'll give you the
made-for-TV version, so you can save yourself the trouble of doing any real
work. Human society is based on the exchange of signs, women, and goods
and services. This is true of all human societies, not just those whose
rules we like or don't like. Men can only control the means of reproduction
by violence, guile, flattery, bribery etc. This is a biological fact, at
least until someone figures out how to change biology in a pretty fundamental
way, if you'll excuse the pun. The key to incest prohibitions, which are
also universal and extremely complex even in "savage" societies, as my friend
Claude delicately puts it, is that they have absolutely no relation to a
Darwinian interest in not procreating inbreds. Rather they are a way of regulating
the white slavery trade and traffic, if you will allow me to use that lovely
expression to refer to both whores and sluts of all colors. Zero is a number,
and free is a price.
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 8 April 2000
Subject: Long Drunken Log I
*** Connected ***
Apartment 7
one-bedroom flat
@w in #72239
Player Conn Idle G Pop Location M Age *
------------------------- ---- ---- - --- ------------------------ -----
-
Tesla (#100767) 14m 3m f 4 Sensual Respites 4y p
Fawn_Guest (#92111) 28m 14s m 4 Sensual Respites Guest
Purple_Guest (#5790) 52m 3m m 4 Sensual Respites Guest
Loki (#106854) 6m 6s w 4 Sensual Respites 4y p
4 connected players displayed.
@go #72239
Sensual Respites
Atmosphere of a campus coffee shop, air saturated with too many exotic
scents.
Everything is looking a bit more worn, more tired than last time you were
here. Everyone's wondering, 'When will this old place finally close? Ho
can she be making any money?'
Type '@help here' for instructions on how to use the Play Stage and Mezzanine,
and on how to @bounce. If you abuse the @bounce feature, you will be permanently
banned from the room.
===============================================================
Exits lead northeast to Members Only, down to Dungeon, west to Sensual
Studio, southeast to Sensual Retreat, enter to Sensual Hot Tub, northwest
to The Den Of Love, north to The Sex Room, up to Mezzanine, south to Sensual
Scrabble, and int to Interior.
===============================================================
Mezzanine (open) is here. Play Stage (open) is here. Gallery bench is invitingly
empty. Sofa is invitingly empty.
Female: Tesla. Male: Fawn_Guest, Purple_Guest, and SAGReiss. Other: Loki
(woofiegnome).
Loki . o O ( irritatate? )
SAGReiss [to Tesla]: What's up, sis?
Tesla idly idles in idleland.
Purple_Guest has disconnected.
The housekeeper arrives to cart Purple_Guest off to bed.
SAGReiss . o O ( The only bitch in here and she's sleeping. )
Dominick teleports in.
Dominick waves.
Dominick curls up on the sofa.
Loki licks Dominick.
Loki says to you, "You may well qualify."
Loki quickly steps aside as Dominick tries to poke him, and then proceeds
to poke Dominick back! How do ya like that?!
Dominick . o O ( hmph )
Loki says to Dominick, "Hehe."
Dominick licks Loki.
Dominick asks, "What's going on, kids?"
@w tesla
Player Conn Idle G Pop Location M Age *
------------------------- ---- ---- - --- ------------------------ -----
-
Tesla (#100767) 18m 24s f 5 Sensual Respites 4y p
1 connected player and 0 disconnected players displayed.
Loki says, "Nothing much."
Loki says, "Cleaning out my inbox right now."
Dominick says, "I can see that now. Quiet."
SAGReiss [to Tesla]: I see. You are not idle. If you wish to speak with
me, please page me.
@go home
Apartment 7
one-bedroom flat
Tesla pages, "Hey dork. I have my computer set to do something every ten
minutes so I don't time out."
page tesla It takes you that long to get off?
Your message has been recorded. SAGReiss will get back to you.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Tesla will be back later.
@w tesla
Player Disconn Last G Location M Age *
------------------------- -------- ---- - ------------------------ -----
-
Tesla (#100767) 45s ago 20m f Sensual Respites 4y p
0 connected players and 1 disconnected player displayed.
Yodelee pages, "Howdy."
page yodelee What's up, sis? I was just thinking about ceramics.
page yodelee I'm getting frustrated. I think you should tell me your URL
and take off all of your clothes in front of the camera.
Yodelee pages, "What happened to your grand plans for office romance?"
page yodelee I'm working on it. I can't think of a good pick-up line. Any
suggestions?
Yodelee pages, "Pick-up lines? Me?"
Yodelee pages, "I went to Vegas over the weekend. With coworkers."
page yodelee And why not? My thoughts run along the lines of: "Would you
please be so kind as to fuck me?" I don't think that's a good idea,
especially not with my latest flame, an Arab girl who might be all of twenty
years old.
Yodelee pages, "You lech."
page yodelee What do I want with used sheets?
Yodelee pages, "Do you leer at her during working hours, or is she unaware
of your interest?"
Yodelee pages, "Used sheets? I missed something."
page yodelee I leer at her as much and as discreetly as possible, so I
think she knows of my interest.
page yodelee "Used sheets" is male slang for divorced women.
Yodelee pages, "Sounds to me like something you made up."
page yodelee I'm afraid not. I wish I had.
Yodelee pages, "You're saying that every available woman over twenty is
divorced? Dang, that's convenient."
page yodelee No, I'm just not interested in women over twenty-five or let's
say thirty. I'm only thirty-six.
Yodelee pages, "I wonder why that is (not why you're thirty-six, you old
fart, but why you're not interested in women your own age)."
page yodelee Because they aren't hot babes. They're, as you say, old farts,
or, as I say, used sheets.
Yodelee pages, "What a ridiculous conversation this is becoming."
Yodelee pages, "Sounds like you got your idea of hot babes from Playboy."
page yodelee Do you think I should go out with ugly women?
Yodelee pages, "I wonder how satisfying it is to go out with people who
are sixteen years younger than you."
Yodelee pages, "'Go out' meaning either sex or intimate company."
page yodelee Why wouldn't sex with a twenty-year-old girl be satisfying.
Maybe she could teach an old goat some new tricks.
Yodelee pages, "How much experience can she have?"
page yodelee I hope she has none. That way we can both learn everything
from the beginning.
Yodelee pages, "Oh, I see, you want to brand the poor girl's mind."
page yodelee Well, maybe she can brand my mind. I wasn't planning on raping
her.
Yodelee pages, "That's not what I meant."
page yodelee I see nothing wrong with my getting a twenty-year-old piece
of ass. Maybe she likes older men.
Yodelee pages, "It's just that the twenty-year-olds I know are very unfinished.
Are you trying to make an impact or is it just easier for you?"
page yodelee I'm unfinished too. I still don't know what I want to be when
I grow up. Besides, a hot, young bod trumps all other considerations.
Yodelee pages, "You are so weird."
page yodelee What's weird? I want a spicy young companion for sexual encounters
and other pleasurable experiences. Is that odd?
Yodelee pages, "Your choice of language, maybe."
page yodelee Come on. This is the 'net. What difference does it make if
I call it love or slobbering cunt juice?
Yodelee pages, "Do you really go through your entire day thinking, 'spicy
young companion...hot bod...'"
Yodelee pages, "Nevermind. I'm sure you do."
Yodelee pages, "I guess most people do, in one way or another."
page yodelee Um, no. It's more: "Bring that slobbering cunt juice over
here, sweetheart."
Yodelee pages, "The endearments really distract from the underlying crudity."
page yodelee Well, I suppose I could think: "Bend over and spread 'em,
bitch."
Yodelee pages, "There ya go."
page yodelee I have never managed to figure out how women think about these
things. Women are liars. They never tell the truth. You can read a million
books where men openly admit to thinking: "Bend over and spread 'em, bitch."
But for all of feminism, you'll never see a woman write a book about what
she thinks.
Yodelee pages, "What about /Fear of Flying/?"
page yodelee I vaguely recall having held that book in my hands, but I
really can't remember anything about it.
Yodelee pages, "I suppose it's occurred to you that at some point twenty-year-olds
are going to start to find you rather wrinkly."
page yodelee There's not much I can do about that, is there?
Yodelee pages, "The protagonist talks about her desire for the perfect
zipless fuck, all the men she's been with, etc."
page yodelee Perhaps I should reread it. I distrust all porn written by
women, since I assume that either it's not written by a woman or else it's
not porn. Anais Nin is such shit.
Yodelee pages, "Everyone thinks that."
Yodelee pages, "She got paid a dollar a page, supposedly."
Yodelee pages, "It's not really porn, it's one of those 'women really do
think about sex' books from the 70s. You know, ambitious for its time and
place but not all that shocking or innovative now."
Yodelee pages, "Are you following the various threads of the conversation,
since I seem to be replying at random?"
page yodelee It wasn't worth it. I recall one time in the Living Room with
negatron. Someone mentioned her name as a great fem auteur, so I said: "I've
read better porn on the walls of men's rooms," and neg said: "For the same
reasons that sagreiss said."
Yodelee pages, "Anais Nin was a big liar."
page yodelee I'm not just a sex symbol. I can also think.
Yodelee pages, "I read one of her novels and it happened that I was also
reading a volume of her journals...she had lifted the novel almost verbatim
from journal entries. Then there's all the stuff she just left out of the
diaries, her two marriages, etc."
Yodelee pages, "You can think about sex, anyway. Dunno if that counts as
thinking or as time wasted."
page yodelee That's absurd. She was writing. Writing always means making
things up. There is no such thing as telling the truth. Language represents,
but does not describe, reality.
Yodelee pages, "Well, yes, it's clear that the diary was her great fictional
work."
page yodelee Let's not be unfair. You think her friend and mine, Henry
Miller, wasn't making shit up?
Yodelee pages, "Sprawling self-important mess that it is."
Yodelee pages, "I think she overestimated herself as an artist."
page yodelee The distinction between fiction and non-fiction is dumb. I've
got a 7.5 MB file of e-mail. I can send it to you, if you like. Is it true?
It's true that we wrote that shit.
Yodelee pages, "What I'm specifically thinking about is the way that she
published the diaries as if they were true...dammit, I don't have the book
I want to refer to with me. Maybe I'm wrong. It's been a while since I've
thought about it."
Yodelee pages, "You're right, talking about 'true' is stupid."
page yodelee What difference does it make, except to nerds and college
professors? She wrote it. That's her right. Delta of Venus, or Venus of
Delta, or whatever it's called is just so much shit. I don't care if it's
true or not.
Yodelee pages, "I apologize."
page yodelee No need. It's not your fault that women can't write porn.
Yodelee pages, "I believe that devorah on this MOO writes it, but I haven't
checked out her webpages."
Yodelee pages, "It's possible that more women would look at porn if it
didn't tend to be oriented to male fantasies. Remember what I told you about
so-called romances."
page yodelee I believe AI have talked to devorah. As I recall it was rather
pleasant, but I can't answer for her porn, as I haven't had the pleasure
of reading it. I'll check it out. I'll send her MOOmail. I'm open to new
ideas. I just read analytically, if you can excuse the pun.
Yodelee pages, "That wasn't a pun, it was a hernia."
page yodelee I am ashamed that I do not remember what you told me about
so-called romances. Please be so kind as to repeat it for me.
Yodelee pages, "Emotional pornography."
page yodelee OK, so I've got a bad sense of humor. You should read Jacques
Lacan. He was the worst punster who ever lived, and I thought well enough
of him to put him in our web site bibliography.
page yodelee Oh, fuck that. I don't want to read other people's love letters.
I want to know who puts what in whom and how.
Yodelee pages, "The books are usually pretty explicit about it now."
Yodelee pages, "Oral sex, erections, thrusting, you got it."
page yodelee It's a lot harder to write porn than one might think. Look
at the great middle part of Capricorn. Miller never loses track of his prick
or his ten-year-old mind or his metaphysical thoughts about sex. It is an
amazing piece of work.
Yodelee pages, "I'd have to go unearth it."
page yodelee I don't mean now. I just mean that when Old Hank said that
Capricorn was a watermark, he was not bragging. It's true. But even lesser
authors has struck the truth, Buk, for example.
page yodelee But I have never seen a woman do it. Perhaps I'm looking in
the wrong places, but I've looked a lot and found nothing. Even on the web,
it's all shit.
Yodelee pages, "I'm not really qualified to discuss it."
Yodelee pages, "You could try Fear of Flying, but it wusses out a bit in
places. And I haven't finished it yet. All that sex is exhausting."
Yodelee pages, "I would guess, totally at random, that it may be difficult
for women to write about sex because the experience is so very different
for them from what it is for men."
page yodelee Well, you've read what you've found, and I've read what I've
found. The beauty of the web is that everyone can publish, except me, of
course, because I don't know how to do it. But I've looked at a lot of porn
sites "4 girlz" and found that they inevitably weren't porn sites at all.
I don't give a fuck about bouquets of roses.
page yodelee So why can't they write about what they experience?
Yodelee pages, "I didn't know they existed."
Yodelee pages, "I dunno about you, but reading about pain and how he went
too fast and didn't reciprocate and the rest of it isn't all that interesting
to me."
page yodelee Well, that would be interesting to me. Besides, you're hinting
at a very broad and incriminating statement about women and sex.
Yodelee pages, "Incriminating?"
page yodelee I knew that wasn't the right word. You are right to correct
me. I couldn't think of something better, perhaps "damning".
Yodelee pages, "Who's damned?"
page yodelee I've had a lot to drink. What I mean is that you are making
a sweeping statement about the sexual dissatisfaction of women, which might
inhibit their ability to write porn.
Yodelee pages, "I mean a general inability to write the kind of porn that
would appeal to you. I think."
Yodelee pages, "I'm only speculating, anyway."
page yodelee I thought you said that "reading about pain and how he went
too fast and didn't reciprocate and the rest of it isn't all that interesting
to me." I said I did find that interesting.
Yodelee pages, "Sorry, I lost track."
Yodelee pages, "But let's say that sex for women is often not the, um,
transcendent experience it might be for men."
page yodelee Any kind of porn appeals to me, except the Anais Nin kind
and the bouquet of roses kind. I want to know who puts what in whom. I also
want to know if it feels good or hurts, but I don't care which.
page yodelee I don't really know. It's not something that's easy to verify.
Yodelee pages, "I'm also thinking that it's only recently that women in
western society have really had the option to detach sex from other issues.
You're Aphra Behn, you're a woman making a writing by your pen, and you get
almost totally forgotten until the "
Yodelee pages, "Until the feminists unearth you. Why? Is it because you
were frankly sexually active? Maybe."
page yodelee I have no idea what you are talking about. Aphra Behn? Is
that an author? I can't understand what you are saying. You have basically
said, though I won't hold you to it under MOOing circumstances, that sex
isn't really enjoyable for women, so how can they write porn.
*** Redirecting old connection to this port ***
You have new mail (1 message). Type 'help mail' for info on reading it.
@next
Message 112:
Date: Fri Apr 7 13:55:56 2000 PDT
From: Yodelee
To: SAGReiss
Boswell, on the other hand, gets to run around sampling diseases. No one
suggests that Life of Johnson is unsuitable. These are illogical arguments,
of course, but I'm putting them out for you to think about. When will you
be back?
--------------------------
page yodelee Sorry, I got dissed.
Yodelee pages, "How much did you miss?"
page yodelee I got your MOOmail, and the last bit of chat was something
about Aphra Ben, of whom I've never heard.
Yodelee pages, "Okay. I also threw out a reference to Mary Wollstonecraft."
page yodelee The mother or the daughter? Frankenstein is a beautiful book.
I haven't wasted much time on The Rights of Woman.
Yodelee pages, "Mother. Daughter is generally referred to as Mary Shelley."
You have new mail (113) from Yodelee.
Type `help mail' for info on reading it.
Yodelee pages, "Did that go through?"
page yodelee As I said, I don't know much about the mother's work. Yes.
@next
Message 113:
Date: Fri Apr 7 14:07:58 2000 PDT
From: Yodelee
To: SAGReiss
"All women together ought to let flowers fall upon the tomb of Aphra Behn,
which is, most scandalously but rather appropriately, in Westminster Abbey,
for it was she who earned them the right to speak their minds. It is she--shady
and amorous as she was--who makes it not quite fantastic for me to say to
you tonight: Earn five hundred a year by your wits."
-- Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own
--------------------------
You have new mail (114) from Yodelee.
Type `help mail' for info on reading it.
@next
Message 114:
Date: Fri Apr 7 14:08:43 2000 PDT
From: Yodelee
To: SAGReiss
Also this:
Aphra Behn, the first professional woman writer in English, lived from
1640 to 1689. After John Dryden, she was the most prolific dramatist of
the Restoration, but it is for her pioneering work in prose narrative that
she achieved her place in literary history.
--------------------------
Yodelee pages, "Rights of Woman was well received, but then Wollstonecraft
died and Godwin (I think) published a biography. Her reputation was ruined
and the work got buried for, oh, a century."
page yodelee Is the shit any good? I mean is it worth my trouble seeking
it out on the web?
Yodelee pages, "Beats me. I'm sending you one more thing."
You have new mail (115) from Yodelee.
Type `help mail' for info on reading it.
page yodelee So who gives a fuck about being lost for a century? John D.
was lost for three centuries.
@next
Message 115:
Date: Fri Apr 7 14:11:04 2000 PDT
From: Yodelee
To: SAGReiss
Aphra Behn (33k JPG image), alleged by Vita Sackville-West to be the first
women in England to earn a living as a writer, is a bit of a mystery. Little
is known about her background--who her parents were and where she was born--but
the details of her life that are known paint the portrait of an intriguing
woman.
Aphra lived for a time in Surinam, an experienced that inspired her first
novel, Oroonoko, or The Royal Slave (1688). She was married for a short
time and widowed at age 25. She secured employment as a spy for King Charles
II and was sent to Belgium in this capacity. The King refused to pay her
return trip, however, and after borrowing the funds to return, she was thrown
into debtor's prison.
After leaving prison, Aphra worked hard to make sure she was always capable
of supporting herself. She became a successful London playwright and then
a novelist. She wrote poetry, feeling that this form allowed her to express
her "masculine" side.
Aphra's opinions were unconventional, and because she openly expressed
her viewpoints in her lifestyle and through her writing, she was seen as
scandalous. Her poetry remarks on romantic relationships with both men and
women, discusses rape and impotence, puts forth a woman's right to sexual
pleasure, and includes scenes of eroticism between men.
As scandalous as her reputation was to some, her work was well-admired
by others and she earned the nickname "The Incomparable Astrea" (referring
to her spy codename of Astrea) from these admirers.
--------------------------
(from a sleeping place) Yodelee shrugs.
Yodelee pages, "The thing I hate about online conversations is that one
must keep on explaining even after one's mind is ready to move along."
page yodelee I don't know, Goldie or Shayda, I think pretty quick, even
when I'm drunk.
page yodelee The delay was because I was checking the spelling of your
name against your e-mail.
Yodelee pages, "Studs always reek."
Yodelee pages, "Call me Tizzy. Easiest."
You suddenly notice that Yodelee is here...or was she always?
Yodelee says, "I got sick of not being able to see what I said."
page yodelee I don't think I'm much of a stud. I think that studs, and
men who have luck with women, are mostly men who are not primarily interested
in sex. I don't like to dance, I don't like sightseeing, I don't like picnicks.
I like to eat cunt and fuck.
Yodelee says, "Those sound like 'friends' to me, not lovers."
Yodelee says, "You know, the kind of guy who complains that all the women
he likes think of him as a brotherly sort."
"I don't really know. Men are brutally honest about some aspects of sex,
but they might tend to exagerate others.
You say, "I don't really know. Men are brutally honest about some aspects
of sex, but they might tend to exagerate others."
Yodelee says, "I don't know what women want from men. I only know what
I want."
You ask, "Which is?"
Yodelee says, "Okay, so I don't even know what I want."
Yodelee says, "I know which men I've been attracted to. That's not the
same."
Yodelee says, "Matt."
Yodelee says, "All he does is accuse me of having a crush on one of my
best friends, but since the friend doesn't write to me and is in New York
State, it doesn't come up much anymore."
Yodelee says, "I meant in the past, anyway."
Yodelee says, "I wish I'd had the opportunity to have some normal, time-limited
relationships in college."
You say, "I think you perhaps had the opportunity. You just didn't exploit
it. I just want a nice-looking young woman to spread her legs. I think I
can take care of the rest."
Yodelee says, "I don't think anyone touched me the whole four years."
You say, "Well, maybe you didn't encourage them enough."
Yodelee says, "I dunno how one is supposed to encourage people."
Yodelee says, "Friendwise or sexwise."
Yodelee says, "Course, people tended to be chummy at Bard if they weren't
members of the S/MAces."
page yodelee I am having this very problem with this Arab bitch at work.
I want her. I don't want to create a problem and get fired. How do I know
that she might be interested in an old goat such as myself? I sense a sexual
tension between us, but I don't know if it's real or only in my imagination.
What should I do? I try to get near her physically to see if she reacts,
but that's not easy.
Yodelee says, "I don't know what else you can do, short of asking her out
to lunch."
Yodelee says, "If you touch her and she shudders and rushed off to whisper
to her friends, that's not good."
Yodelee says, "RusheS."
You say, "That is an option. I have thought about it. It's not that easy.
I am extremely busy at work, and she answers the telephone, so I don't even
know if she is allowed to go out to lunch. I will try, to make you happy.
If I fuck her, I'll send you a BCC of the e-mail. Well, maaybe, you don't
seem to think it would be a good idea for me to store my files on your 'puter."
Yodelee asks, "When did I say that?"
Yodelee asks, "Although I'm starting to feel like a character out of Dangerous
Liasions. Can you do the whole Valmont thing?"
Yodelee says, "More likely she's going to make you date her and I'll get
to snicker over your frustration."
You say, "I asked you if you could store a 7.5 MB file of e-mail. You didn't
answer."
You say, "Fuck that. She spreads her legs the first time we go out or she
can forget it. I don't give second chances."
Yodelee says, "I simply have no idea how to react to that statement."
Yodelee says, "I could store your file, I suppose. At home, not here."
Yodelee says, "I have a lot of files on my old laptop that may not be accesible
because of the year change. I didn't even think about transferring them
until it was too late."
Yodelee asks, "Can I ask you something that may be a stupid question?"
You say, "It's quite simple, bend over and spread 'em. What do you think
I'm interested in? I want her ass."
Yodelee says, "Nevermind, I've reconsidered."
You say, "Of course."
You say, "Please, go ahead. I am learning from this conversation."
Yodelee asks, "I have a 5 MB e-mail quota. You can't e-mail your file to
me unless I clear out my folders and you break your file up into smaller
files. Is there any way for you to put your file on an FTP server I could
log into?"
Yodelee asks, "Learning what, pray?"
You say, "I have broken it up, because Nichelle's server wouldn't let me
e-mail it to her. I have to check the files to see how big they are now.
I am learning things about how you think, which is vaguely interesting to
me, even if you're half lying."
You say, "I don't know how to do ftp."
Yodelee asks, "Didn't we already decide that 'truth' has no value?"
Yodelee says, "Anyway."
Yodelee says, "Okay, we'll do the e-mail thing."
Yodelee says, "Later."
Yodelee says, "What am I lying about? I'm like to know."
Yodelee asks, "I'd. Geez. Which one of us is drunk?"
You say, "Well, yes and no. Truth has no literary value, but it still doesn't
excuse lying in most cases. I'm not thinking about my e-mail or Anais Nin's
diaries. I sometimes lie in my e-mail. but I often say that I'm lying."
Yodelee asks, "Don't you think that self-presentation is a fiction?"
Yodelee says, ""
You say, "I don't know if you're lying. Maybe you don't find sex enjoyable.
Well, I think you probably do, at least in as much as it pleases the other
guy."
Yodelee asks, "/Other/ guy?"
Yodelee says, "I think I'm insulted."
You say, "Whatever his name is."
Yodelee says, "I didn't say I didn't enjoy sex, anyway, I just said I hadn't
had much experience of it, and that it's not as simple for women as it is
for men.\"
Yodelee [to SAGReiss]: 'Other' guy implies that I am also a guy.
You say, "Representation is always different from reality."
Yodelee says, "Your self-presentation seems to involve waving a metaphorical
penis around."
SAGReiss waves his metaphorical penis
Yodelee snickers.
You say, "From your description sex didn't sound like a very happy experience."
Yodelee says, "I was describing certain elements that some women experience.
I didn't mean for you to arrive at that sum."
Yodelee says, "Although I feel sorry for the twenty-year-old if she does
end up going to bed with you. Nothing you've said leads me to expect you'll
be tender with her."
Yodelee says, "On the other hand, if she goes to bed with you, she probably
knows what she's in for."
You say, "I would have to be a lot more familiar with your cam URL to know.
I have no reason to believe that women don't enjoy sex. The women I've lived
with have all seemed to like it, but I can''t know for sure. I still claim
that I haven't seen any decent porn writen by women. Excuse my typing, I
am now officialy drunk."
Yodelee asks, "Have you been drinking this whole time?"
Yodelee says, "You must have consumed a bottle of whiskey by now."
You say, "I will be very tender with her. I will cater to all her needs."
Yodelee snickers.
You say, "I am serious."
Yodelee says, "Maybe if her needs include using and being used, sure."
Yodelee says, "That's just the Puritan's outlook, however. Ignore it if
you like, for she knows nothing of which she speaks, fer sure."
You say, "I will cater to all her needs if she wants to have sex. If she
doesn't want to have sex, then I don't care."
Yodelee says, "it's interesting to me that you can pursue writing about
sex so zealously and yet in your life wish to divide sex from every other
thing."
Yodelee says, "From your description, you prefer your writing-about-sex
to be a little broader in scope."
You say, "Sex is different from every other thing. It's better."
Yodelee says, "How many of your former lovers are you still friendly with?
If you don't consider my question to be prying."
You say, "Sex and writing about sex are not the same."
Yodelee says, "Well, duh."
Yodelee says, "If they were I think people would stop finding partners
and start buying pens and paper."
Yodelee says, "And at the bottom, an inkblot."
You say, "Only Nichelle. Nichelle understands everything."
Yodelee asks, "The coffee is making me think I'm witty. What does the whiskey
say?"
You say, "I'm having trouble typing."
Yodelee says, "'Everything' is a less descriptive word than I like."
Yodelee asks, "If you pass out and choke to death on your vomit, will I
see 'SAGReiss says, "L:KGHH 908908980" '?"
Yodelee says, "I wish I'd logged this conversation. It will probably be
the only coherent one I get out of you this year."
You say, "That's why I'm trying to dump this 7.5 MB file on your sorry
virgin ass. You can also read it. Just tell me where the fuck to send it.
I need to know that there are many copies made."
From: SAGReiss
Date: 8 April 2000
Subject: Long Drunken Log II
Yodelee says, "Ow. That hurt."
Yodelee says, "I suppose you're passing through the 'belligerent' phase
of drunkeness now."
Yodelee asks, "Do you think I'm laughing at you or something?"
Yodelee sighs loudly.
Yodelee says, "I have a secondary e-mail address. Let me check the space
and tell you how much you can send there."
You say, "Not at all, I'm just typing more slowly. I'm not very interested
in my fuck-ups. I try to avoid spelling mistakes. Tell me about your cunt.
That's what interesting."
Yodelee asks, "Back to that, are we?"
Yodelee asks, "Okay. How big are your files?"
You ask, "Is that not interesting to you?"
Yodelee asks, "Did you notice that you get cranky and obscene whenever
I make any reference to your alcohol consumption?"
You say, "I said, I think the biggest one is 7.5 MB."
Yodelee says, "I have one account where you can store up to 4 MB of stuff,
but each incoming e-mail has to be under 2 MB. What a bitch. If you can
handle that, you can probably fit the rest onto my main e-mail account."
Yodelee says, "Okay, that's not going to work. Bleh."
You say, "It has nothing to do with alcohol. I'm interested in what you
have to say about sex. It's just late at night here in Tel Aviv."
Yodelee says, "I've thought of something, but it may be too much effort
for you."
Yodelee says, "That sounds like a song. 'Late at night...in Tel
Aviiiiiiiiv....'"
Yodelee says, "If you go to Tripod and get your own account, they'll give
you 11 MB of storage space. After I download the files from there, you can
cancel the account if you want. The only thing is that you'll have to download
an FTP program and learn to use it. "
Yodelee asks, "Too much effort for you?"
You say, "I can't deal with that kind of shit. Right now we've got the
files on Nichelle's 'puter and on mine. I can cajole negatron into storing
them. I just thought you might like to have them."
Yodelee says, "I do, but I don't have the capacity."
Yodelee says, "For the transfer. I do have the storage capacity."
You say, "So get the fucking capacity. You can write your masters thesis
on my weirdly orgasmized brain."
Yodelee says, "Gabe wants to be a daddy. He keeps spawning."
Yodelee says, "Go ahead and e-mail your hellish little masterwork to my
work address. I dunno how much capacity I've got, but it's worth a try. I
can break it down myself to get it home."
You say, "If I werren't so tired I'd tell you to strip right away and show
me your naked parts on the webcam. I can't even fuckingtype naymore."
Yodelee says, "The webcam is at home."
You ask, "You get paid for talking to me aaabout porn?"
Yodelee asks, "Are you going to e-mail it to me or not? After all that
whining?"
Yodelee says, "You're talking about porn. I'm offering thoughtful conjecture
on a variety of subjects."
You say, "You don't understand. It takes time. One file is on its way.
I hope you don't get in trouble at work."
Yodelee says, "My lover is the system administrator. I don't get in trouble
for much."
Yodelee says, "I suppose that there's an offchance it will bounce and send
error messages that will mysteriously get sent to my boss, but in that case
I could always blame you."
Yodelee says, "We have an employee here who is always sending All Firm
messages that no one wants. I can say you're like that."
You say, "I don't really care. You told me to send them."
Yodelee says, "I'm explaining to you that I'm not going to get into trouble."
Yodelee says, "Got one."
Yodelee asks, "Is this a text file?"
"I don't know. It's an MBX file. I'm too drunk. I'll send the rest tomorrw.
From: SAGReiss
Date: 8 April 2000
Subject: That Wasn't a Bad Log
But I'm hungover.
From: SAGReiss
Date: 8 April 2000
Subject: Goldie
That is one beautiful log. I don't care if none of you assholes likes it.
I've reread it three times, and it stands up even to my thoroughly analytical
reading. I can't believe how lucid I sound, and how well I type, when I
am so irresponsibly drunk. I only started fucking up on the keyboard towards
the end, but I was wasted from start to finish. That was after a long, hard
day of non-stop drinking, beer and anisette and wine and whisky. There are
some days when I have to admit that I'm good. Anyway Goldie has long wanted
to be added to this list. Most of you know her anyway. Shayda, negatron
will explain the initiation process to you. John, make sure you remember
to ask her blood type, in case something goes wrong.
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 8 April 2000
Subject: This is my lucky week-end
*** Redirecting old connection to this port ***
> scaredycat waves.
page scaredycat Did you get my e-mail?
scaredycat pages, "email? no, i didnt read mail for 24 hours. i'm getting
it now :)"
scaredycat pages, "why did you send any pictures?"
page scaredycat Pictures of what?
scaredycat pages, "nude pictures!"
page scaredycat I haven't got a camera. Besides, I haven't seen many pics
of your hairy ass.
scaredycat pages, "ha."
page scaredycat It's true. You talk a lot about sex, but I haven't seen much
action.
scaredycat pages, "brb phone."
scaredycat pages, "eh, my little friend is across the ocean. no wonder there
is no action."
page scaredycat But you never give me the real goods. If I ever get laid again,
I'll tell the whole world the gory details.
scaredycat pages, "okay.okay. when i get off the phone."
page scaredycat So hang up the phone.
scaredycat pages, "what gory details do you want? i'm not good at describing
things. if i were to write porn stories they would probably look more like
documentation."
page scaredycat Write it in whatever form you're comfortable with.
scaredycat pages, "okay, off the phone (but he's going to call back soon anyway)."
page scaredycat So take some time and write me the sex e-mail. You know I'd
do it for you.
scaredycat pages, "eh, email is worse."
page scaredycat OK, so write it now on the MOO. I'm doing a survey for a scientific
study. I need to know how you have sex with your friend.
scaredycat pages, "okay okay. but it's been already more then two weeks that
i've been away from NY, i already forgot what we did."
page scaredycat Don't give me that shit. You haven't forgotten.
scaredycat pages, "okay. i lied. but in any rate, i told you all the intresting
things, i think."
page scaredycat You told me that you wanted him to tie you up, but he didn't
do it right. But you haven't told me anything about his cock or your cunt,
or what you like and don't like, or what exactly it was that hurt you.
scaredycat pages, "alright. as opposed to josep, that was extreamly proud
that his cock is nice and straight (it was pretty funny, he would always
say "yesh li zubi nechmad veyashar", i have a nice and straight cock. nevermind),
his is tilted to the left. and i think it's too long. my stomach hurts when
he fucks me too much."
page scaredycat Now we're getting somewhere. There's a very funny story Freud
tells about a woman dreaming of a tilted hat and then asking the great doctor
if all men had one ball lower than the other.
scaredycat pages, "about my cunt. i dunno. he claims it's very tight. (which
may be due to the fact he hangs out with sluts, or i just didnt get around
much) but he doesn't complain about it, i think he's actually happy."
scaredycat pages, "i keep having a dream about my teeth falling out. what's
annoying is that he complements me too much. so it's hard to tell when he
speaks the truth. like many americans i suppose."
page scaredycat So his cock is long and bumps up against your uterus? Can
you get it in your mouth? What are we talking here, 20 cm?
page scaredycat I've never told a woman much about her cunt, except what it
smells like, which is very hard to say. It's hard to find the right image.
Tightness has more to do with muscle control than having been well-reamed,
so far as I understand.
scaredycat pages, "i dont know, it's hard for me to judge length. all i know
is that it hurts more then anyone before. maybe i'll measure it. i dont
think i can get it all in my mouth. i read this thing about "deep throat
sucking" or something like that where in order not to gag, you just try
to "swollow" it. i think i will try that."
scaredycat pages, "he claims mine smells sweet. i suppose it does, but i have
nothing to compare it with."
page scaredycat That sounds like a good idea. I think he will appreciate the
effort, if I may be so bold as to speak for him. Pardon the expression,
but do you spit or swallow?
scaredycat pages, "unfortunatly, he never came in my mouth. so the question
is not valid."
page scaredycat That's actually a big controversy in sex. Some women won't
suck a cock that's recently been in their cunt or ass. Also some men won't
eat a cunt they have recently come in. I think this is wrong.
> scaredycat bought natasha some banana flavored condoms (and some japanese
food) as a present from new york.
page scaredycat But I can interepret the adverb "unfortunately" as suggesting
that you would be inclined to swallow. Men like that a lot, for their own
perverse reasons.
scaredycat pages, "i read someplace that there is no danger in sucking a cock
that has recently been in your own ass, because the toxics have been through
your bbody already. this is not true if it's been in someone else's ass.
but i dont think i would try it."
scaredycat pages, "i just never tried. i am worried i would chock. but i feel
i have to try it."
page scaredycat That's all nonsense. Children and dogs eat shit. There's no
danger. I've eaten quite a few assholes in my life, and it hasn't done me
any harm. On the contrary. I think it has substantially improved my moral
fiber.
scaredycat pages, "children and dogs get sick and die."
page scaredycat Everyone gets sick and dies. Better to have eaten an asshole
or two before one dies, as Shakespeare wrote.
scaredycat pages, "i suppose. i dont think i would enjoy it, i would be too
busy thinking about the smell or how i might get sick and die. i'm very
ungenerous."
page scaredycat So do you still push his head away before you come when he
is eating you?
scaredycat pages, "yeah."
page scaredycat So you don't come at all?
*** Redirecting old connection to this port ***
page scaredycat Sorry, I got dissed. I was asking if you never came?
scaredycat pages, "i'll resend: yeah, i do. sometimes. i'm worried i am getting
old. i used to do it more often and with no effort. even when i masturbate
it can take more then 20 minutes, which is rediculus - sometimes i just
give up in the middle. maybe it doesnt have anything to do with age, and
i'm just fucked up or something."
page scaredycat I still masturbate as I did when I was a lad of twelve. Even
if I'm getting laid on a regular basis, I still like to jerk off from time
to time.
scaredycat pages, "so perhaps something is wrong."
page scaredycat Well, I don't know that I'd go that far. What, if anything,
makes you come during sex with another person? (Did you resend something?)
scaredycat pages, "well, finally, for the first time ever, i came from regular
old sex. which was nice. i felt as if i accomplished something. (well it
wasn't entirely "regular", (according to natasha) not the missionary position,
since i was riding him from above.)"
page scaredycat Fuck natasha. What does she know? She looks very unkempt on her
web site. Perhaps I'm prejudiced because I spent so much time in France,
where women actually care about their appearance, but I hate a woman who
looks messy.
scaredycat pages, "also, he really likes oral sex, and that usually does the
trick. even though he does it way too vigorously - in my oppionion."
page scaredycat Meaning he eats you roo vigorously?
scaredycat pages, "neah, she's not messy at all. (i used to be messy, but
i changed. (josep educated me...))"
scaredycat pages, "yes."
> scaredycat wasnt really messy, but i would dress sloppy. used to wear
t-shirts and jeans all the time, and basically look like a boy).
page scaredycat Anyway, natasha knows nothing about sex.
scaredycat pages, "brb phone."
page scaredycat It's good for a woman to dress nicely. It's good for a man
too, but not so important. I'm ashamed of the way I dress, but I still look
clean and decent and usually wear a white dress shirt. I have no fashion sense.
It's a problem.
scaredycat pages, "you just have to look at other people."
page scaredycat I guess so. Perhaps the problem for me is more that I hate
shopping. I liked it when I used to wear a tuxedo every day.
scaredycat pages, "my friend again. on the phone."
page scaredycat For Christ's sake, hasn't he got anything better to do? Tell
him to find a new gf wherever he is.
scaredycat pages, "he has one, sort of."
page scaredycat Maybe the three of you should get together and have a menage-a-trois
so you could tell me the sordid tale.
scaredycat pages, "ick. have you ever done that?"
page scaredycat I have done that a few times. It's pretty good, a little complicated
from the orgasmizational standpoint, but still...
page scaredycat A man who has never had his cock in one woman's mouth and
another woman's tongue up his asshole has lived in vain.
scaredycat pages, "i think i would be too jelous if there were another woman
around. unless it was some woman i fancied. but those are scarce."
page scaredycat Well, it might be natasha, for example, or it might be that you
had one cock in your cunt and another in your ass, and maybe even a third
in your mouth.
scaredycat pages, "first i dont think natasha would agree (and i wasnt talking
about her), if it were multiple men that i dont think i would mind (actually
it could be good, becuase i have a tendency to fall sleep last, and i always
exhaust my partners, which is a shame :-/ at least for me.)"
page scaredycat Well, it is kind of a fact of nature that a woman can keep
doing it even after a man gets tired out.
scaredycat pages, "well, it's unfair and annoying."
page scaredycat I should think that your young studs could keep up with you.
I can come three or four times a day, though not six as I could when I was
younger. If I pounded your cunt through three (of my) orgasms, I should
think you would have had enough.
scaredycat pages, "also, i think i am worse then most women. at least josep
said that he always managed to get his partner tired at some point, except
for me. (and he never complemented me for nothing, like diego does. if that
is a complement at all.)"
page scaredycat If you're fucking for two or three hours, it's no wonder that
you're taking a beating and your cunt hurts.
scaredycat pages, "but just because you hurt doesnt mean your tired."
page scaredycat Well, OK. I've sometimes fucked so much that I had open sores
on my cock.
*** Redirecting old connection to this port ***
page scaredycat Sorry, I keep getting dissed. Fucking aquanet...
scaredycat pages, "i'll resend: but just because you hurt doesnt mean your
tired. bah. all this talking. i still have to wait 2 weeks to get back."
page scaredycat You mean to get on your back?
scaredycat pages, "to get back to ny (and on my back)."
page scaredycat So where are you now?
scaredycat pages, "i'm at home. (why did you ask how my trip was??)"
page scaredycat I had no idea you were in Israel. I was just kidding when
I said that. Why don't you come to Tel Aviv and have wild sex with me?
scaredycat pages, "hopfully, when i get back, diego wont find anyone else."
scaredycat pages, "because you said you were ugly, and i only like good looking
guys."
page scaredycat You have seen my picture. You can decide for yourself.
scaredycat pages, "no, i mean really good looking. it's a shame, becuase it
really narrows down the market, and statistically there is less of a chance
of finding someone that is good looking AND a smart, good person."
page scaredycat Well, I guess I'm out of luck then. I don't think I qualify
as "really good looking".
scaredycat pages, "but i'll come fix your computer if you want. i'm not sure
how well i will do. like most cleaning ladies i dont do windows."
page scaredycat I would be delighted to invite you here. I would have done
so sooner, but I really didn't know you were at home. Please come next
Friday after noon or Shabat, whenever you like.
scaredycat pages, "i invited a friend over for the weekend, also, i must use
public transportation, cause my parents wont let me drive thier car (i haven't
driven in 8 months, since the accedent), but i can come sometime during
the week."
page scaredycat Whenever you like is fine with me. I work until five. After
that I can tell them to get lost. I can pick you up at the Tachana Mercazit,
if you like. We can ride the #16 bus back to my place.
scaredycat pages, "alright. i have lots of stuff to do this week, so i dont
really know what day i can come yet. should i email you when i know? or
phone?"
page scaredycat I don't like the phone much. Please send me e-mail.
scaredycat pages, "hotmail or aquanet?"
page scaredycat Aquanet. I tend to forget to check my hotmail account. If
you use e-mail, I need to know twenty-four hours in advance. If you have
to make last-minute changes, you can call me at work at 03-638-4459 or at
home at 03-... I'm sorry, I don't know my phone number and I can't find
it on my phone bill.
scaredycat pages, "heh."
scaredycat pages, "and you are known as scott at work?"
page scaredycat That's my direct line, which I never give to anyone. The operator
line is 03-638-4444, and I'm known as Gabriel to everyone except my family.
(I can probably find out my number at home. I'll e-mail it to you. I'm not
even sure the damned thing works. They've just printed up a company list
of phone numbers. I offered to have my private e-mail listed, but refused
to give them num telephone number.)
scaredycat pages, "should i bring windows and word CDs? to reinstall? or just
clean up stuff and not reinstall. (actually diego is the right person for
this job, he knoews windows)."
scaredycat pages, "what an honor. the direct line."
page scaredycat I have the windows CD. Please bring Word, in case we need
to reinstall it. I've actually solved my biggest problem by hiring a new
archivist, but maybe I am "really good looking" and we can watch porn online
and fuck.
scaredycat pages, "i dont think so. but at least your computer might be a
bit faster (i cannot guarantee)."
scaredycat pages, "in any rate, this is going to be highly embaressing for
me."
page scaredycat I would be very happy if my 'puter were a bit faster. The
truth is that I'm going to buy a new one soon. I can get an HP through work.
But I like you, Batsheva. I'd like to meet you irl. We can have dinner together
and, you know, talk, hang out. We can pretend that we're friends. We've
known one another for a long time.
scaredycat pages, "also, just because i like really good looking guys does
not imply anything at all about me, so i wouldn'y commit if i were you."
page scaredycat I know what you look like. I've seen your picture. I think
you smile too much.
scaredycat pages, "yeah, but fixing one's computer is a good excuse. i smile
alot more then most israelies, and alot less then most americans."
> scaredycat notes that one is supposed to smile in pictures.
page scaredycat I tend to snarl and leer and snicker and frown and grin. So
come fix my 'puter, anytime day or night. Just write me e-mail or call me
at work. (I'll see if I can find my home number.)
scaredycat pages, "okay. i should go eat supper now."
scaredycat pages, "bye."
page scaredycat Bete Avon.
Page recorded.
You call and call, to no avail.
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 9 April 2000
Subject: Morning Brooding
It's five o'clock in the morning. I stayed up late drinking and talking
to scaredycat and I woke up after only three or four hours sleep. I'm nervous
and don't eat enough. I am taking my job far too seriously. Why should I give
a fuck about these dumb-stupid conferences? I am a wage slave. They pay me
thirty sheqels an hour. And almost all of the hassels are fucking cheap assholes
arguing about money, big amounts or small, it doesn't seem to matter to them.
Today is going to be an ugly day. There's two hundred and fifty whining doctors
arriving in Jerusalem for a pediatrics congress. It has been a complete disaster
from start to finish. We cancelled one hundred and fifty rooms at the Crowne
Plaza a week before the conference. The scientific committee swindled free
rooms out of someone, so they didn't book them through us. The only thing
any of these people understands is money. We never write that something is
good, except as an afterthought. We write that it's cheap. I am so ashamed
when I am told to ask someone for a good price. What's your fucking problem,
can't you pay? Most of the time I just forget to write that. When I'm paying
I don't ask for a good price. Either I can afford something or I can't. Liars
and thieves, that's what I deal with all day. My boss will be at the conference
most of the week, so things will be quiet and fun at the office. He walks
out the door and thirty people relax. You can feel the stress leave the room.
Everyone hates the man. Is it worth the money? I don't think so. He is insane
with greed. He'll be calling me every spare minute on one of the twenty or
so phones that will be at his disposal at the hotel: "Comment ca va, Gabriel?"
I'm feeling fucking fine with you out of my face, asshole. Me and his wife
are the only people who understand that one has to treat him like shit to
earn his respect. Everyone else cowers in front of him. I do what the fuck
I want. He didn't even say anything to me when I made a big fuck-up last
week. In February I sent an invoice for US$63,800 (or something like that)
to the wrong fucking fax number. In March, three weeks after the bill was
due, I sent a reminder, using "save as" so the fucking thing went to the
wrong number again. Last week he told me to write them a nasty letter. Fortunately
I wasn't too mean: "I am a little concerned about this group..." I wrote
using his name. At the last minute I had a though. "Tu sais, Daniel, maybe
I should also send a copy by e-mail. It's really odd that they haven't answered."
The next day he showed me a fax we got from the idiot whose wrong number
I had been using: "Please stop sending me your stupid bills. I don't know
who Helen Capeland is." He said: "You should have heard her on the phone.
I thought she was going to cry." I can't believe none of you bastards has
written after I sent those two gorgeous logs. Goldie is going to think you're
all a bunch of mutant geeks who can't find the shift key. No, Goldie, this
isn't my diary. It's, um, interactive. One of these days they'll wake up
and say: "Welcome, Shayda. Nice to see you here."
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: Murder
Date: 9 April 2000
Subject: Orals
Let me be the second one to welcome Shayda to the list. I skimmed the logs
rather quickly, because reading them felt like eavesdropping on a conversation
in a coffee shop, which for some reason makes me uncomfortable. It's not
that I am uninterested in the details of sex. My most recent sexual experience
involved a twenty-year-old girl named Rachel that was and still is a virgin.
Rachel and I have been friends for two years. When Erin and I broke up last
August, I could tell she was interested in "dating" me, whatever that means
nowadays. One night in October she came over to my apartment, and after
some light conversation she followed me into the bedroom where we began
kissing. Clothes soon flew, and I was fondling and sucking on her breasts.
As a flutist, I am highly orally fixated. We ended up dry humping with just
my boxers and her g-string to separate our juices. On successive nights,
she became more comfortable with me, and we progressed to oral sex. I love
giving a woman oral, for the sheer pleasure of hearing her moan and feeling
the muscles of her legs and cunt tighten and relax. When she came, she wanted
me to lighten the pressure and flick her clit with the tip of my tongue.
I have only had oral sex from three women, and Rachel was the most inexperienced.
But a blow job is like pizza: when it's good, it's really good. When it's
bad, it's still pretty good. She would suck me until I was totally hard but
not ready to come. Then I would mount her and she would place my cock against
her clitoris, humping until we came. She never allowed me inside. Her cunt
is too tight, so she has a fear of penetration. Eventually, she annoyed
me so much when we spent time together during the day that I became totally
turned off by her sexually. We "broke up" in early January, and she began
dating my best friend Cy (whom Nichelle knows). Cy cheated on her and fucked
with her head (he never got sex from her either). He said it serves her
right for not putting out. Rachel and I are still friends, but I hope to
gradually phase out our friendship when I move to Manhattan over the summer.
I will attend Juilliard in the fall on a full tuition remission, as a student
of Jeanne Flaxtresser, former principal flutist of the NY Philharmonic.
Juilliard was the only school to offer me money; I was accepted into the
programs at Manhattan School and Peabody Conservatory, but they didn't offer
me a dime. My account at eden will expire soon, so I'll have to switch to
a hotmail account or something similar.
murder
From: Columbine
Date: 9 April 2000
Subject: Re: Morning Brooding
At 6:37 AM -0400 4/9/00, Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss wrote:
>No, Goldie, this isn't my diary. It's, um, interactive.
Both of these sentences are, in my opinion, lies.
-c
From: SAGReiss
Date: 9 April 2000
Subject: Jeanne Flaxtresser
You can sure pick 'em, Murder. The squalid tales of dry humping, the floutist
with a name that would suit one of the narratrices in the 120 Days of Sodom.
"I'm not built right. I'm too small." That line was already old when Henry
Miller told it in Capricorn, and I've heard it myself, from a Frenchwoman
I lived with on and off for three years, who used that excuse to avoid first
blowjobs then sodomy, to both of which she quickly succombed and was quite
adequately built for. I highly approve of your reasoning, John: "How do
I get rid of this hysterical bitch who won't give it up? I know, I'll sell
her to Cy. He's such a scumbag, he'll either rape her or make her wish he
had." I'm in a very powerful moral position, for once in my professional
life, if that's what one wants to call it. The Managing Director called me
into his office to offer me a raise and said: "You came here eight months
ago as a secretary. Now, you don't depend on the system, the system depends
on you." Most of that was just dumb luck. As the only secretary in the secretary
pool, I had access to all of the information, so I knew what was wrong with
our methods in all of our departments and compartments, and was smart enough
to think of solutions. As each crisis struck, I learned how to do what the
person who was fucking up was supposed to be doing and improved on her orgasmization.
So now I'm really the only one who knows how things work. It can only get
better, because they have had trouble hiring new wenches, so the notice
of the two girls who are leaving is going to expire without anyone having
been adequately trained. So I can train them. They will have to use my twisted
methods. Their documents with have "display all nonprinting characters",
and I won't have to raise from the dead any more foolish columns of English
data written into Hebrew tables. Do people really expect Word to be able
to work right to left and left to right at the same time without crashing
every three seconds? The Assistant Managing Director tried to placate me
by opening an English Word document, but then he moved the DOS database through
a right to left Excel: "Fuck. Do your own God-damned mail merge, Yaron."
Now I've got them by the balls. They have offered to make me a "coordinator".
I think I should probably change my Lambda character to The_Coordinator.
Then it gets complicated. I earn NIS5,000 a month, plus 250 (net) for bus
fare which they have to give me by law (but which the boss tried to pass
off as a "bonus" since I walk to work). But I get OT, and I guess those ninety
hours must have raised some eyebrows at the Gelfand family picnic this week-end.
So they've offered me NIS6,500 plus the 250 "bonus", but no OT. And they
want to pay for me to take Hebrew lessons, for which I quite simply have
no time and not much inclination. I said I needed to think it over and look
at the numbers. You have to understand that I can't even read my pay slip
and am in an ambiguous tax situation as a "new immigrant". I have averaged
about 25 hours of OT per month, but if my responsibilities increase, as they
already have, I'll be under more pressure to stay late. Also my boss only
begins to wake up at six o'clock in the afternoon when he gets off the phone,
and he wants the shit done today, even though it's been sitting on his desk
unanswered for two weeks. And his third daughter, born on 31 December 1999
will grow up, and he'll get sick of his second raging, psychotic wife, and
he'll go back to the days of staying till midnight every night. And he'll
expect me to stay with him. He likes my company. But I think I have a choice.
When I said I had to think about it, the Managing Director said that I was
entitled to a raise, about ten percent. He said that I could stay on an hourly
basis, which I understand as meaning that I'd get NIS5,500 plus my "bonus"
plus OT, which is far better as far as I'm concerned, except for holiday
pay, vacation, sick leave and a couple of other benefits that I don't care
about. To be fair, I think I have to say I prefer to keep getting hourly
wages. They won't like it, but so what? They can offer me NIS7,000 if they
wish. After all, I am henceforth officially webmaster, desk-top publisher,
tour operator, conference coordinator, secretary and borderline sexual harrasser
of young Arab receptionists. The slimey Frenchman who is Director of Incoming
said to me: "Tu fais pas aussi le menage la nuit?" "Non, je voulais, mais
ils ont dit que j'etais pas qualifie. Je parle pas le russe."
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: Nichelle
Date: 9 April 2000
Subject: The Sexpert Speaks
I have many happy memories of Gaby. None of them are from the bedroom.
He led me to believe that this was because I was too fat to fuck.
I don't understand why a man with so much creativity in so many areas in
his life (the keyboard, the kitchen) would have so *little* creativity in
the bedrom. For a man with mature tastes, he has a very adolescent view
of sexuality.
I'm not talking about boquets of roses. That's not sex, unless maybe you
drag the petals and thorns across your lover's body. I'm not talking about
"costumes and cheap theatrics" which are fun, but really just icing on the
cake (which is also fun). I'm talking about something a little more substantial
than a quick, guilty fuck in the missionary position.
I started having the most wonderful sex of my life as soon as I left Gabriel
and rejected his perception of me and realized that there are many (wo)men
who find me to be a wonderful partner. He can keep his playboy masturbation
fantasy... When people know what turns them on, when they can communicate
that, when they are responsive and enthusiastic lovers, when they actually
give a fuck about their partner's experience of sex, then they're on the
road to a good sex life.
I'm sorry, Gabriel. I don't think I've written you a mean letter since
I left you, but you were lousy in bed. You blamed that on my fat ass and
thighs and belly, but I still have those, and I shake the walls and wake
the fucking neighbors when I cum.
A man who uses more spice in the kitchen than in the bedroom shouldn't
wonder why he is far more successful there.
-Nichelle
From: SAGReiss
Date: 10 April 2000
Subject: The Best of the West
I love you, Nichelle, and am happy that you are florishing sexually. I
only wish you would more often share the experience with us. I was indeed
lousy in bed with you. Sexual esthetics and my perception of your body image
no doubt played a role in that failure, as may have a million other hidden
factors. I am perfectly willing to bear the brunt of that failure. I think
you unkindly generalize from your experiences with me, but I understand
that you have no compelling reason not to do so. I will not bicker about
this. On the contrary, I am always pleased when this space becomes more
open to wider interventions, even if it does so at my expense, which it
often seems to do. I've decided not to give an answer at work today. I'll
tell them I need to think about it some more, and write them e-mail tonight
or tomorrow. (I'll copy it for your benefit of course.) Let's make the bastards
play on my turf.
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 10 April 2000
Subject: RE: That Wasn't a Bad Log
Were you able to do anything with those MBX files?
From: Goldie
Date: 10 April 2000
Subject: RE: That Wasn't a Bad Log
Poor baby.
From: Goldie
Date: 10 April 2000
Subject: RE: That Wasn't a Bad Log
Yup. They're plain text.
From: SAGReiss
Date: 11 April 2000
Subject: Kiss my ass, Motherfuckers
>From: SAGReiss
>Date: 11 Apr 2000
>Subject: Job & Compensation
>
>Lior,
>
>Thank you for your thoughtful comments Sunday about my job performance
and
>the direction my career at Ortra is taking.
>
>I would indeed like to continue working on planning and proposals,
>coordination, the internet, publications and operations. I am learning
a lot
>at Ortra and enjoy contributing to the many different aspects of what
we do.
>
>I am pleased and grateful to accept a raise of ten percent. I agree
that it
>is justified by the additional responsibilities I've had to assume
in a very
>short time.
>
>Due to the pressure that I am often under from the different departments
>with which I work, and the priorities and urgencies of each of those
>departments, I do not think it would be in my best interest to be
>compensated on a monthly basis. I understood that I had the choice
to remain
>on an hourly basis, and that is my choice.
>
>I would like to take this opportunity to thank you, Zvi, Yaron, Daniel
and
>Albert for the confidence you have shown in me and especially for the
help
>that you have given me as I have taken on new tasks.
>
>Sincerely,
>
>Gabriel
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 11 April 2000
Subject: Not Good-Looking Enough
My friend, I guess that's what I should call her, whom I've known for almost
as long as I've been online, five and a half years, has just left, an hour
after she arrived. She said she had to go to the movies. I guess that must
be some kind of geek joke. She did neither what she had proposed, to fix
my 'puter, nor what I had proposed, to eat dinner and hang out and pretend
to be friends. I offered her a plate of antipasti, green and black olives,
pickles, pickled hot peppers, anchovies and parmesan cheese, which she refused,
saying that she didn't like olives and had already eaten (humus), which I
thought was a little odd, since she was going to someone's home who had offered
her dinner. I hadn't made any great preparations, but I was planning on cooking
something or taking her out. She couldn't re-install Windows properly because
I don't have some floppy disk, which I must have lost in a drunken brawl
while crossing the street between Lou's Place and Cosmopolitan's, the after-hours
club also owned by Louis Morgan. I can't remember if I ever took Nichelle
to Cosmo's. She liked Lou's, and they liked her at Lou's. When a white guy
goes to the ghetto to get drunk with the bro's, they probably figure, he
can't get along with his own people, the mean son of a bitch, so let's kill
him if he starts any trouble. But at Lou's they understood me. I was never
robbed walking out of that place absurdly drunk with a hundred dollars in
tips in my pocket at two in the morning. Everyone loves Nichelle. And the
bro's especially appreciate a white man who will bring his white gf into
their ghetto turf and party and play darts with the brothers and sisters.
This is basically unheard of. And I'm sure Mister Betsy, the day bartender,
took care of her, served her a drink, and wished her a good day when he saw
her taking the bus to school, when I was at work. Anyway to get back to my
friend, I have no idea why she came to visit. She obviously wanted nothing
to do with me, which is fine, and nothing to do with my dumb-stupid Windows
'puter, which is also fine, but why waste your time? I still had things to
do when I left work, so that I could greet her properly. Well, I guess it
doesn't matter. I am inclined to buy a new HP 'puter through work with an
ISDN modem or whatever else they're offering. I would prefer some cable action
because then I could get rid of my phone, or perhaps DSL, which my friend
mentioned, and which permits one to be always online, which is the only civilized
way to live. The Managing Director drove me to Jerusalem to see the debacle
at the Pediatrics Congress at the ICC, so he answered my e-mail, saying that
they would adjust my wages accordingly as of... and then the phone rang.
These people have two phones in their cars, one attached to the dashboard
and another with a speaker inserted in their ear and a microphone attached
to their shirt. Anyway I don't think he was too upset. He knows that he was
trying to screw me, and that I didn't go for it. Let the bosses fight amongst
themselves for my time. I have to fight to go home even when I'm getting
OT. John (negatron) please think of me a little and set yourself up to receive
my 8MB or more of data. I would feel a lot more comfortable knowing that
you had the archives too. I trust Nichelle because I love her. I trust Goldie
because she might really want to write her thesis on our letters. I trust
you even more because I know that you don't give a fuck one way or another.
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 12 April 2000
Subject: Logging
Last night was interesting on the MOO, but I didn't log it. I'm not sure
why. I feel a little cheap when I send logs. It seems to me as if I were
avoiding the terrible pain of sitting down in front of a white page (well,
screen) and thinking: "I have to write at least five hundred words of good,
if not great, prose or else the bastards will think I've shot my bolt," as
one American author was once quoted as very unkindly saying about another.
Funny that I can't recall who said it about whom. I'm thinking one of them
must be someone like Sherwood Anderson and the other Thomas Wolfe, but I
really can't remember. I hate it when I can't remember something. Maybe Goldie
knows. Anyway I was talking with Goldie, trying to explain how I write and
how I think about writing (I recall giving as examples that I regretted,
in the letter entitled: "The Best of the West", that I had used an ugly expression:
"bear the brunt of that failure", when normally one bears the brunt of a
burden, and also that I wrote: "which it often seems to do," when I should
have written: "as it often seems to do".), when Nichelle logged on from work.
I assume she was at work, given the Pacific time. I guess she has joined
the ranks of the MOOers on Company Time geeks. I could do this too, but it
would just rattle my already tense brain. Nichelle and I talked about our
little fight, and I quoted her some text that I had decided not to send.
I was pulling my punches and playing a complicated game interweaving the
non-answer to Nichelle's attack with my decision (cf. "The Best of the West")
not to answer my bosses that day, and then entitling my next letter: "Kiss
my ass, Motherfuckers", leading you, if you do not use a preview pane with
your e-mail software, to believe that I was about to launch a fifteen-hundred
word misogynistic tirade, when all I did was quote the quiet but devastating
letter I wrote the following morning to my bosses. Anyway, then scaredycat logged
on demanding an explanation of the letter entitled: "Not Good-Looking Enough",
of which I had sent her a BCC out of courtesy. She explained to me that she
had abruptly left in part because she was scared of me, scared, she clarified,
that I might rape her. Now I have been accused of many evil sins over the
years, always wrongly and unfairly as you know, but I have never been accused
of being physically menacing, or if I have I can't remember it. Her fear,
she said, was based on that notorious episode of sexual harassment, when
even the Nazi-feminist lesbians of the MOO have told me that the Rainier
Club would have been laughed out of court for claiming that private e-mail
on private 'puters, which is immediately stopped on request, constitutes
sexual harassment. I think I'm beginning to have some luck with Odelia. Don't
fucking laugh at me, you swine, there is nothing weird-odd about a thrity-six-year-old
degenerate trying to make small talk with a twenty-year old Arab girl whose
face makes me shiver, whose body makes me shake, and whose voice makes me
quiver with delight. She called me and said: "Gabriel, it's Odelia. I need
your help." I threw my keyboard out the window and rushed to the scene of
the crime. "Daniel is in the marsan [cellar]. How do you say 'marsan'?"
she asked the Assistant Managing Director. "I understand 'marsan'. Is he
tied up?" She laughed. The Assistant Managing Director said: "You can tie
him up and leave him down there." She pointed to a shopping cart and said:
"He needs you to help him bring stuff up. You can take that. How do you say
it?" "It's called theft, a stolen shopping cart, to be more precise." She
laughed again. And you cunts think I have no charm.
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: Nichelle
Date: 12 April 2000
Subject: Re: Logging
For the record, I'm not working yet, so I'm online on my own time. I've
never MOOed from work- I think it's a bad policy.
-Nichelle
From: SAGReiss
Date: 12 April 2000
Subject: Afterlogging
It was wrong of me to mention that I had quoted to Nichelle some text,
and then not to give it to you, but I didn't have it. I had thrown it out.
Guilt overcame my my unwillingness to sift through the kitchen trash to
find the ash- and food-stained handwritten notes. As I said, I didn't keep
a log. So here's what I wrote:
"Issues of esthetics and perception of body image are far from trivial.
I do not think that their importance to me reflects childishness on my part.
Sometimes Esse IS percipe. Your sexuality, Nichelle, was and is a thing
of beauty, but it is a thing of beauty that, for various reasons, I could
not enjoy up close. Some pleasures are better savored from afar."
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: Goldie
Date: 12 April 2000
Subject: Re: Afterlogging
Cop out.
This is not a list post, obviously.
From: SAGReiss
Date: 12 April 2000
Subject: Re: Afterlogging
That is fucking ridiculous, Goldie. I love Nichelle. There was no misunderstanding
between me and her. She was indulging a little apres-divorce bitterness,
which was well deserved after three long, hard years with me. I liked her
letter entitled: "The Sexpert Speaks". I liked everything about it. Did you
think I was fucking joking when I said that Nichelle is a great writer? Look
at some of her more experimental messages, the Matilda letters, the great
Utopia fake log, which opened up for us a whole new sub-genre, not to mention
the seminal (Even I feel bad about that pun.) texts with which she introduced
herself to me and to the list. Nichelle does not need the benefit of my
benevolent supervision to understand what I was doing in the "The Best of
the West" and "Kiss my ass, Motherfuckers" e-mail messages. She is as merciless
and analytical a reader of e-mail as I am. We ruthlessly pick apart one another's
messages and everyone else's. This is not some kind of a game we are playing,
or if it is we are playing for keeps. Read 'em and weep, sister: "I'm sorry,
Gabriel. I don't think I've written you a mean letter since I left you, but
you were lousy in bed. You blamed that on my fat ass and thighs and belly,
but I still have those, and I shake the walls and wake the fucking neighbors
when I cum." Listen to the rhythm of those phrases. It begins very pedestrian.
Then it begins to lilt with the long independent and subordinate clauses,
then the coordinating conjunction and the short, cutting jab. Then the brutal
blow of honest self-reflection, the coordinating conjunction and short pause,
and finally the thrilling, soaring conclusion (what Conrad called the peroration
of Kurtz's Exterminate-all-of-the-brutes text.) with the rhyme in -ake and
the alliteration in w- and the great pun that creates ambiguity about who
exactly is fucking, she or the neighbors. Notice too how I picked up her
"shake" and off-rhymed it with the anaphoric "makes", while substituting
a feminine rhyme in -iver an alliteration in sh- three days later when I
wrote: "whose face makes me shiver, whose body makes me shake, and whose
[contralto] voice makes me quiver with delight." I don't need to ask Nichelle
if she was doing that "intentionally". (We have had a few arguments on this
list about "author's intent".) I know she was. Do you think that because
we are not getting paid that we don't know what the fuck we're doing? We
are pros, sweetheart. Get used to it.
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: Goldie
Date: 12 April 2000
Subject: Re: Afterlogging
I am amused and delighted that you were able to read so much into my two-word,
off-the-cuff comment. As the line goes, you have a dizzening intellect.
I do sometimes wonder if it really matters what I say or if the mere existence
of the words is enough of a catalyst for you.
Let's test it. What do you think of when I say the word, "projection"?
--La Rubia
From: Hillary
Date: 12 April 2000
Subject: sex and loathing
Here, a thrilling coincidence: La Rubia and I have the same alma mater
(though for me it's not yet an alma mater because I graduate in May; she
left last year). SAGR, you knew this but never mentioned it? Somehow on
this tiny campus, amidst a scant 1000 students, we managed to miss each
other for the three-year overlap and run into each other via a common online
acquaintace who has fled to Israel because he likes to use the word 'cunt.'
Considering that the population of LambdaMOO is nearly five times as large
(4945) as the population on campus, it's almost staggering. Almost staggering
because I skitter off to NYC every weekend so don't participate in the majority
of college social functions, and I invest a lot of time in prowling around
online. I suspect those two factors level the odds somewhat. Anyway, I like
her because she fields SAGR's furious intellectualizing and vulgarizing
with a lot of grace, and she writes well. I'm not sure we have anything
real to talk about but so far the chatter has been nice.
All of the sex and loathing lately has made me want to post some of my
own dregs. I wrote a long and laughable chronicle that made heavy use of
fuck and love, chickened out for fear of sounding adolescent, but have revived
some scraps because I'm feeling adolescent and I don't care.
I cleaned out all the old bank receipts and outdated telephone numbers
from my wallet and ran across a list I made last spring.
TOMORROW
Bring: Do:
-----------------------------------------------------
Batman: eat. write letters.
The American Scholar: 12:15 bus-->train
Journal: 4:00 meet M, 338 E. 22nd
Clothes: 7:00 meet T, 6th & Spring
O+: Saturday--
9:30 train
10:30 Annamarie
3:00 train
4:45 Julie
[O+ is shorthand for tampons; apparently I had or was expecting my period
on this particular Thursday.]
I sat on M's couch brushing my hair and putting on crimson lipstick (dabdabdab
in a compact mirror) while he watched and said something like "You look
really great" I guess in an attempt to be friendly rather than boyfriendly
even though I found out later that he'd written in his journal that he wanted
to fuck me and that I'd gained weight, the latter of which was not true.
So I left him pretending nonchalance but believing I loved him to meet a
person with whom I pretended nonchalance but wanted to fuck and didn't, at
least not for a week. Then I proceeded to fuck over the person I had fucked;
three weeks later I ended up taking back the one I thought I loved, but somehow
I ended up loving the one I fucked, so much so that now, over a year later,
I can't imagine why or how I ever loved or fucked before meeting the man
I met while wearing the lipstick. It's led me to wonder whether loving and
fucking are inextricable or if they're mutually exclusive. This sounds convoluted
or ridiculous, but really it's easy.
Pay attention to the lipstick. I bought it when I broke up with M, or when
he cheated on me and things just ended. I also cut and dyed my hair to match
the lipstick. When M wanted to be friends I was sick about it, but made
a point to see other people, to let him know I was "happy" and "sexy" and
"over it". I never wore lipstick when we were together, and I stopped wearing
it when I moved in with him later than spring, even though we almost never
kissed because he smoked two packs a day and was self-conscious about his
breath. I'm getting ahead of myself. The red lipstick, although a real and
admittedly vapid subject, should be given great significance. M gave it
significance, which is why he said what he said while he watched me put
it on.
So I met T that night and when I met him he was smoking which should have
set off alarms, except that he smoked Camels instead of Marlboros, which
somehow was different. When we got to the restaurant it was full of mirrors
and I used my napkin to take of my lipstick because it was new and made me
self-conscious.
I slept in his bed and he slept on the floor. I invited him into bed but
either he didn't hear me or didn't want to; now he claims I never did, but
I'm sure I offered. The next morning we watched some French film with English
subtitles and he had his hand on my leg for most of the movie which could
have been accidental and told me I smelled good though I could only have
smelled of his soap. I thought he didn't want me.
The next weekend we fucked without thinking; it was what we were supposed
to do or what was in our natures to do. He had been with maybe 60 women
then over the course of his life, and if you count the people I fucked for
money I probably matched him, and so it was reasonable that we would fuck
each other. It was interesting and hot and strangely violent; we argued over
who would go down on whom and foreplay consisted of pushing each other around
and trying to sort it out. Apparently he couldn't handle blowjobs because
some chick had sliced him up with her teeth once upon a time, badly enough
that he had to have stitches, and I couldn't handle cunnilingus because of
an early violent experience, but both of us were morbidly fascinated with
performing oral sex, and I mean that quite literally in the sense that our
egos were tied up in the PRODUCTION of someone else's pleasure, if theatrical
tonguing is possible. So we both enjoyed ourselves and in the morning he
said something like "I wonder if married people are this happy" which I found
really disturbing.
For a couple of weeks things were great and then M invited me for lunch
and I was on that couch again, in the lipstick again and he said "If we don't
leave now I might rape you" and for some un-fucking-known reason I smiled
and said "You wouldn't" because I wanted him to, because I was twenty and
stuck somewhere between being valedictorian of my high school class and
being a part-time whore. So I stopped wearing lipstick again. M also liked
me to have my hair in two pig tails, to call him Daddy in bed (which, incidentally,
the latest issue of Glamour Magazine specifically advises against), and
to hold his dick while peed. No joke. I think Nichelle's Gabe-bashing prompted
me to do some internal ex-bashing myself. I'm thoroughly disgusted with
this person for whom I did so many degrading things, and for whom I gave
up things I really wanted, namely lipstick and T. Maybe I dwell on the disgusting
things about him, like the time he shat in his pants after we ate bad Vietnamese
food and he couldn't make the six blocks home.
Fastforward through unbearable cohabitation, succint breakup, radio silence.
T and I find each other again. The sex isn't as hot, but it's deeper and
loving. He reads me bedtime stories in his native language. He flies 3000
miles for the weekend just to meet my parents. He's everything, and yet there's
some little fucking seed of hatred left for M, which means he's still there
in my system in some form. I'd give just about anything to exorcise him completely.
He pops up a week or two ago to tell me that he met Monica Lewinsky and
had coffee with her. Took her lipsticked cup home with him.
Unbelievable.
Perfect.
Hillary
From: SAGReiss
Date: 13 April 2000
Subject: Time to go to bed
Very good, Shayda. You've passed your initiation test. The first lesson
is: don't take too much shit from the man who thinks he's the boss. Second
lesson: "the mere existence of the words is enough of a catalyst for you."
I couldn't have said it any better myself. It is precisely the existence of
words, rather than any silly bullshit about their meaning, that matters. negatron
will take your blood sample tomorrow. I have to get to bed.
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 13 April 2000
Subject: FW: Robber's knowledge
>To: The World
>From: Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss <sagreiss@dreamscape.com>
>Subject: Robber's knowledge
>
> "'L'ascendant, nous dit-il, qu'a pris le ministre, dependrait de la
connaissance qu'a le ravisseur de la connaissance qu'a la victime de son
ravisseur', textuellement: the robber's knowledge of the loser's knowledge
of the robber."
>
The above text was quoted by me in 1996 or 1997 (according to the sender's
address) but the letter was never finished. I remembered it this morning
when I woke up at four. It is quoted from Jacques Lacan's "Seminaire sur
'La Lettre volee'" which is anachronologically placed at the beginning of
the Ecrits. If you remember Poe's tale, almost nothing is said about the
letter. We know that it was sent to the Queen. We don't know by whom. We
don't know what it says, but we know that it's contents are supposed to be
compromizing, so we may assume (though we can't be sure) that it's a letter
from her lover explicit enough to be incriminating. What Poe didn't tell
us is none of our concern, as it was none of his. What's important is what
he does tell us. It is the "mere existence" of the letter that will make
heads roll, first because of "the robber's knowledge of the loser's knowledge
of the robber" and later, when Dupin finds the letter, which is hidden from
the Queen's secret police where they would never think to look, on top of
a stack of letters, because of the robber's knowledge of the loser's ignorance
of the theft, when Dupin replaces the letter with an identical piece of paper
on which he has written: "Un destin si funeste..." Notice that Poe doesn't
tell us what the letter says, but he tells us what kind of paper it's written
on. To give you another example, here is Roland Barthes on Phedre: "C'est
ici l'etre meme de la parole qui est porte sur le theatre: la plus profonde
des tragedies raciniennes est aussi la plus formelle; car l'enjeu tragique
est ici beaucoup moins le sens de la parole que son apparition, beaucoup
moins l'amour de Phedre que son aveu. Ou plus exactement encore: la nomination
du Mal l'epuise tout entier, le Mal est une tautologie, Phedre est une tragedie
nominaliste." And again: "La ruse d'Oenone consiste precisement, non pas
a reprendre l'aveu de Phedre, a l'annuler, ce qui est impossible, mais a
le retourner: le mot restera intact, simplement transfere d'un personnage
a l'autre." And finally: "La divinite cachee de Phedre n'est pas Venus, ni
le Soleil, c'est ce 'dieu formidable aux parjures' dont le temple se dresse
aux portes de Trezene."
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 13 April 2000
Subject: Odelia
I know what you are thinking, negatron: "you are a sick fuck. you woke
up at 4 in the morning thinking about a fragment of e-mail you wrote 3 or
4 years ago?" What can I say? My first thought of the day was: "Now I can
finally use that text I began so long ago, to illustrate Goldie's observation
about words serving no purpose except to bear more words." I walked over
to the 'puter and put Eudora in search and destroy mode, but I thought the
message was called "The Purloined Letter" after the tale. I had to try again
to find "robber". Anyway the old man's wife, who runs accounting, asked
for my help: "I want to send Olivia to the bank with a lot of money. Can
you go with her?" My heart stopped: "You mean Odelia?" "Olivia, Odelia,
beseder." Odelia said to me: "Are you my bodyguard?" "I'm holding the money,
so I think you must be my bodyguard." In the elevator I asked her some stupid
question, to which she replied, to my astonishment: "I just came back from
LA." What? My Oriental princess spent a year in Los Angeles? If there are
no more virgins in Strasbourg, as the old Alsatian folk song has it, then
there must be no virgin assholes in Los Angeles, including men, women and
dogs of both sexes. But she is truly beautiful. I could barely breath, let
alone speak, let alone think, the whole time. She has a deep voice which
attacks the many gutteral phonemes of Hebrew with gusto. You see, my friends,
there is justice in this hellhole. I can't say that I've won yet, but at
least I'm going to be allowed to play the game. She's not dumb, and no woman
could be so dumb as not to know that I was chatting her up. She didn't call
security. In fact, I was security. We had to wait half an hour at the bank,
and I was relishing every minute. I told her about my criminal internet
addiction and asked her to teach me Hebrew. She told me how to say: hair,
eyes, nose ("af"), and mouth ("pe", which I like because it means "fart"
in French, though I thought it prudent not to mention this fact). I'm glad
we're starting with the body parts. Now I have to ask scaredycat to tell me
again, so I can learn the words this week-end, because there's a test on
Sunday, that is if scaredycat is still talking to her putative rapist. Let
me try to recreate her in my mind. She has long, black frizzy hair, with
a couple of insanely white ones mixed in. She plucks her eyebrows in the
middle where they meet, and has charming peach fuzz sideburns. She said that
Hebrew was her "mother tongue", so she may be more assimilated than I thought.
Her English is not bad, but not so good as I would have expected from someone
who had spent a year in the States. I guess Spanish is the official language
of Southern California anyway. I should have asked her if she had served
in the army, so that I could be absolutely sure that she's an Arab, though
there's little doubt in my mind. (Arabs don't have to serve in the army.)
Her eyes seem slightly crossed, but they are dark and bright and piercing
and laughing when she laughs, which she does easily. Her teeth are a little
third-world. She wears a fair amount of jewelry and loud lipstick and has
a funny way of sticking out her surprizingly pale, pink tongue, perhaps to
wet her lips, though I'd be happy to take care of that for her. She is small,
barely five feet tall, though she has nice curves. It's hard to tell, for
she dresses modestly, wearing long-sleeve shirts and undershirts with sleeves,
so I don't really know her taste in brassieres. I haven't seen her in a skirt
or dress yet. I'm trying to remember what we said, but I fear it was all
gibberish.
Rien donc ne peut sauver la position de la police, et l'on n'y changerait
rien a ameliorer "sa culture". Scripta manent, c'est en vain qu'elle apprendrait
d'un humanisme d'edition de luxe la lecon proverbiale que verba volant termine.
Plut au ciel que les ecrits restassent, comme c'est plutot le cas des paroles:
car de celles-ci la dette ineffacable du moins feconde nos actes par ses
transferts.
Les ecrits emportent au vent les traites en blanc d'une cavalerie folle.
Et, s'ils n'etaient feuilles volantes, il n'y aurait pas de lettres volees.
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 14 April 2000
Subject: La Reine de Saba
I know what you bastards are thinking: "You say she's truly beautiful,
but you don't make her sound that way, and you forgot her nose, which is
on the vocabulary list." What were you expecting, assholes, Petrarch's description
of Laure de Sade? She's a woman, not a porcelaine doll. Women may have zits
and bad teeth and sometimes even hair on their ass. Grow up. And I didn't
forget her af. It's just very hard to describe. The tip is long and fine,
but the bridge is a little wide and peaked. I haven't carefully examined
her nostrils yet. We were standing in a bank, not lying on my bed.
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: Nichelle
Date: 14 April 2000
Subject: Re: La Reine de Saba
You can just read me like a book, Gaby... That *is* what I was thinking.
>I know what you bastards are thinking: "You say she's truly beautiful,
but
>you don't make her sound that way, and you forgot her nose, which is
on the
>vocabulary list."
From: SAGReiss
Date: 14 April 2000
Subject: Am I weird?
>Date: Fri, 14 April 2000 19:53:53 -0400
>To: "EDSL Information" <info@edsl.com>
>From: SAGReiss
>Subject: RE: DSL for End-User
>
>Why are you wasting your time and mine? Obviously I got your address
off of
>the URL:
>
>http://www.edsl.com
>
>(If you write it that way, there's a good chance I can simply click
on the link.)
>
>Can you, or can you not, give me information either in your e-mail
or a
>link to the specific web site, that is, for example:
>
>http://www.edsl.com/consumerinfo.htm
>
>Is this question too hard for you? If so, please refer me to someone
who
>might be able to answer my question.
>
>Gabriel
>
>At 12:27 13.04.00 -0400, you wrote:
>>Dear Scott
>>
>>Sorry if you got offended, However there is a lot of info on the
WEB when
>>you search for DSL.
>>In our web site (www.edsl.com) you will find under the technology
page you
>>will find: white papers, related unbiased articles and also links
to dsl
>>sites like the xdsl, VDSL , ADSL
>>
>>Thanks
>>
>>Amnon
>>
>>-----Original Message-----
>>From: Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss [mailto:sagreiss@aquanet.co.il]
>>Sent: Friday, April 14, 2000 6:24 PM
>>To: EDSL Information
>>Subject: RE: DSL for End-User
>>
>>If I wrote to you regarding information on DSL for the customer,
it's
>>because I am a potential client. I was thinking you might maybe
take the
>>time to give me some of that "tons" of information, rather than
just send me
>>back to your web site (without even a specific URL). If this is
the way you
>>treat potential clients, I think I might find better service elsewhere.
>>
>>No thanks.
>>
>>Gabriel
>>
>>At 12:09 13.04.00 -0400, you wrote:
>>>Dear Scott
>>>
>>>There is "tons" on information regarding xDSL technology on
the internet.
>>>In the EDSL website you can find under technology information
regarding in
>>>buildings DSL
>>>
>>>Thanks
>>>
>>>Amnon
>>>-----Original Message-----
>>>From: Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss [mailto:sagreiss@aquanet.co.il]
>>>Sent: Friday, April 14, 2000 6:01 AM
>>>To: info@edsl.com
>>>Subject: DSL for End-User
>>>
>>>Sir or Madam,
>>>
>>>I live in Tel Aviv. I am interested in DSL technology. I was
wondering if
>>>you had any information pertaining to the individual consumer.
>>>
>>>Thank you for your cooperation.
>>>
>>>Best Regards.
>>>
>>>Gabriel
>>>
>>
>
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 14 April 2000
Subject: vr
Attached: vr.doc
Compliments of Nichelle and Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss.
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 15 April 2000
Subject: Nichelle, the Sun-Goddess
I don't know if you are being ironical here, but I think I can read even
more than that: "'Women may have zits and bad teeth and sometimes hair on
their ass,' and sometimes they have a fat ass and thighs and belly, so what's
the big deal?" I can't really answer that question. Something in my psychological
make-up must be wrong. Desire is a weird thing. Why did young Dr. Sigmund
choose Frauelein Martha Bernays rather than Frauelein Pina Pfeifmacher?
I'm sure that even the great doctor wouldn't claim to know. I hope you will
always be my friend, though, because I was re-reading some of the old e-mail
yesterday and I may have read two thousand books, but only you can write
the e-mail that shakes my soul. This list is the only good thing I've ever
done in my life, and you made it happen. If I could invent the perfect writer,
to expand on J.D. Salinger's metaphor, you are exactly the person I would
invent.
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: Nichelle
Date: 15 April 2000
Subject: Re: Nichelle, the Sun-Goddess
I have to ask: why the Sun-Goddess?
From: SAGReiss
Date: 15 April 2000
Subject: Re: Nichelle, the Sun-Goddess
Don't you remember? I'm quoting from memory: "Nichelle is the sun in our
universe. And I am the force of gravity. My name is f=ma." I've been brooding
about Odelia. If she spent a year in Los Angeles, she isn't as pure and
innocent, and quite likely not as young as I thought. But how can I ever
explain this list to her, the horrible things I've written about her, which
I'm too honest to forget to show her. My only advantage is that she's not
American, so she won't go crazy over my use of the word "cunt". She hears
the Man say: "Cus em mec," every day. Can you imagine what would happen
in the States if a boss said: "You fucking bitch, I'll kill you," to an employee?
I don't know why I worry. For all I know she might be getting her ass pounded
by some circumcized dog as we speak. I haven't even asked her out to lunch
yet. Goldie said I sounded like a high school geek trying to line up a date
for the prom. I was thinking this morning about a sixty-five-year-old lady
at work called Rosy. She was born in Egypt, lived in Belgium and the Congo.
She can be a pain in the ass, and is full of dumb-stupid cliches, but sometimes
she speaks with the wisdom of the ages: "Le mariage est une lotterie." What
magnanimous resignation. The boss was screaming at the travel department
about this rich-ass doctor from Texas who was an invited speaker at the
Pediatrics conference. I told him to shut up so as not to scare the new
girls. It's a sordid tale. We (from the congress budget) provided the prick
with free flight tickets. (You remember what I said about free being a price?
I write free shit into budgets every day.) So he wanted to change his departure
date, but we could only wait list him, so the asshole went out and bought
a two-thousand-dollar non-refundable ticket. The next day we got him a seat,
so now he was trying to get us to get El-Al to refund his non-refundable
ticket. "Daniel, who cares about this jerk? Qu'il aille se faire foutre."
"I'm trying to help him. His father is dying." "He isn't crying about his
father. He's crying about his two thousand bucks."
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 15 April 2000
Subject: 13 Bottles of beer
"Quit your lamentations, bitch. You wrote more e-mail in Syracuse." Nichelle
was chiding me because I said I've felt for the past week as if the World
were a second full-time job. She told me to stop jerking off so much and
write some e-mail about Israel: "You know, local color, camel rides, belly
dancers, opium dens." I said I'd give it a try, but we're still waiting for
her amazon.cum letter and what about all the wonderful sex she's been having?
I thought you liked to share. Here, for the record, is that text from 23
March 1996 which I quoted. I can't forget what I read and write. I remember
everything. Sometimes I even scare myself. I'll make an exception and copy
and paste the text, which I never do. (You'll notice that I misquoted "La
Reine de Saba" in "Nichelle, the Sun-Goddess".) I give myself every opportunity
to make a telling mistake. I use spell-checks and copy and paste at work.
This is my home. I can do what the fuck I want:
Once again impressed by your letter, Annie Divine, I propose the following
gentleman's bet, as you are obviously a woman of calibre. I'm very sceptical
about Nichelle's friends as they are all "brilliant" in her words and I
know they can't all be so. If I win our little joust over time and music,
you'll let me make you a member of our World. If you win, I'll let you become
a member. Nichelle will tell you this is eminently right and fair, and she
will be judge, jury and executioner of our contest. She (and this may surprise
you) and not I is the sun of our World. I am gravity and my name is f=ma.
While my mass won't impress an FWB like yourself, my acceleration is enough
to sober up Albert Einstein after a long night sniffing ether in his lab
at Princeton. I have spent many an evening hitting the bottle with Atomic
Al and we are both the better man for it. As for John Boy Keats (He was listed
in the NCAAs at five foot, still a record, but was closer to four-eleven.)
he has no problem with me. We met in his house in Rome, where he died after
writing those heart-breaking letters back to Merry Old England. Among his
last words were the bit about negative capability, "When I die I shall be
among the English poets," and the final, endless "I hate to say good-bye".
As I was typing that this morning, I hesitated between "sun in our universe"
and "sun of our universe". I prefer the latter, as I wrote it originally,
for the homonymic pun. After Nichelle logged off I laid down to rest to
no avail. My mind was imagining scenari starring Odelia and SAGReiss. We
are sitting on the terrasse at work and I am feeding her slices of avocado
from my gamelle, which is what we call the plastic bowl I bring my lunch
in. It usually means "dog dish". She opens her mouth and I bring my fork
to her lips. I can see her tongue. I am imagining that I am a slice of avocado...
We are lying on my bed after our first fuck. I wasn't too lousy in bed. "Odelia,
there's something I have to tell you. You know what I said about the internet?
Well, we have a little writing club..." I don't know. We are dealing with
people who are so internet unsophisticated. I got a call a while ago from
the unbelievably beautiful girl in the travel department: "Gabriel, I need
your help. My sister sent me something in e-mail. Can you please delete
it? I don't want them to see it." "I think it's too late, Nirit." Daniel
was standing next to me laughing and waving the picture of this naked woman
with monster tits. I think I might be able to get away with what I'll call
the Goldie principle. That's right, I'll just say that my way of representing
myself to the world (and the World) involves waving a metaphorical penis
at everyone I meet. I'll say: "Petrarch knew that Mrs. de Sade sucked cock
and took it up the ass. Her husband was the ancestor of the Marquis. You
know that Hugues was into some weird shit. But Petrarch represented her in
a certain way, which he derived from the Provencal troubadour tradition to
create the genre of courtly love. He said her breath smells sweet. This is
no more true than when I say your pussy smells sweet. We are trying to represent
non-linguistic phenomena in words. There is no easy or intuitive way to do
this. It's a lot of work. I know what love is. I have just created my own,
admittedly crude, way of expressing it." Do you think this will work? I've
been letting the seams show in my e-mail recently because it's sometimes
frustrating feeling, rightly or wrongly, that only Nichelle and I understand
what we are up to. I saw your snide little remark, Todd. I felt it was beneath
me to answer. Anyone who hasn't figured out the "shake(s)" pun yet should
stop reading this letter and turn on the TV. OK, Mr. Antichrist, shut the
fuck up and give us the promised local color. The Tikva (Hope) casbah is
a sprawling, dirty, overcrowded, beautiful market, where mostly food is sold,
though I'm sure one can buy camels, women, opium and anything else, legal
or otherwise. It's what the Farmer's Market in Seattle would be if Americans
weren't such cunts. In the States it would be shut down in a minute and everyone
would be taken to jail. The merchants are all thieves, but they are petty
thieves, and they feel bad about it. They rob me, and then say: "I'll give
you an extra tomato," since I'm paying twice the price because I don't argue.
I go to this liquor shop near the market where this old guy called Moshe
takes care of me. Yesterday I brought thirteen empty beer bottles to return.
He was sitting down smoking and relaxing in front of the shop. He shouted
at one of his hangers-on to take my plastic shopping bag and put the empties
in the cellar. He asked me if I wanted anything else. I said, I think, tomorrow,
which was wrong because tomorrow, today, is Saturday and everything's closed.
I was trying to say: "Later," because I had forgotten to get money from
the cash machine. I pointed to my watch. He understood. He asked me if I
wanted the money now, or he could deduct it from my bill. I said: "Beseder."
He didn't want me to spend the thirteen sheqels in somebody else's shop.
Like I said, they are petty thieves. When I returned, he asked me how many
bottles I had given him. I said, truthfully, that I didn't know. (I've been
insisting on the number thirteen precisely because of the later confusion
and because it's my user number at work, cf. "The curse of user 13".) I have
no idea how many bottles I gave him, and I don't really care.
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 16 April 2000
Subject: The Men's Room
Xao is a MOO for bitter OZ renegades and serial sexual harassers, the kind
of people who get dressed up on Saturday night, planning to go out, get
drunk and start a brawl at the local pub. I've never seen a woman there,
but maybe feisty logs on on occasion. I fit right in. I got on yesterday
for the first time in a year. Some guy I don't know waved: "Where the fuck
is Colin, and how come I don't have a character here?" The guy shrugged.
A few minutes later Colin logged on. He said I could get a character by just
typing @request from the log-in screen: "But I know you will take such pleasure
in making one for me." He made me a character, but misspelled my name. We
got that sorted out, then I complained that since Colin now knew my password,
he would probably be logging on as me and harassing all the babes, not that
there are any to begin with. Then the other guy asked Colin what my password
was, and pretended that Colin had given it to him: "Don't tell him. I can
see he's a degenerate." We were all laughing, joking, easily having a good
time: "He'll not only harass the babes, he'll expect you to bring them."
Actually Colin got off a very good line: "Money is degenerate information,
as heat is degenerate energy."
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 16 April 2000
Subject: HND'S
HND'S.....iadaim
LEG'S.......raglaim
FEET'S.....capot raglaim
FINGER...atsva
I failed my first test miserably. I was nervous, couldn't find a moment
to approach her in peace. She works the fucking phones. There is no peace.
She was wearing a bright blue shirt, kind of frilly undershirt, and black
pants so tight that Mick Jagger would have hesitated to put them on for fear
of stopping the blood circulation. Her body is truly beautiful. After lunch
I was hanging around the reception area trying to look like I had something
to do there, and I blurted out: "I was thinking of you this week-end. She'ar,
enayim, af, po, two wrong out of four, not quite what is expected of a man
of calibre. She laughed and corrected me. It's easy to laugh when you look
that good, and when you're making a thirty-six-year-old man act like child
and make an utter fool of himself in his place of work, where he is a respected
businessman, or whatever it is that I'm supposed to be. Late in the afternoon,
when I was done with my work and bored, I decided to give it another chance.
Fuck Goldie trying to cast the hex on me. You should all be wishing me luck
for your own selfish reasons, so you can read the terrible e-mail that will
necessarily follow any change for the better in my sex life. So I walked
over to where she was now sitting in accounting. I bent over her and asked:
"Can you give me some more words?" Our mouths were about twelve inches apart,
which is about twelve inches too close for an American, maybe six inches
too close for an Oriental. I gave her my pen and squatted down letting her
tower over me and looking up into her face. She began writing the above text,
except that she printed the Hebrew, which I've transliterated. The Assistant
Managing Director yelled from his office next door: "You are shameless. You
should be arrested." "Yaron, if you're bored, why don't you make some phone
calls?" "No one wants to talk to me." "So call Tieder [my boss]. No one wants
to talk to him either." I had worn blue jeans on purpose. But when I stood
back up, I think she may have noticed something. Oh, well, with those pants
she was wearing I could have counted the hairs on her ass, if I had had the
time and the proper concentration. The day had begun badly. My boss called
a meeting at ten o'clock and specifically invited me, which is contrary to
tradition. (Another one of the job benefits I get from not speaking Hebrew
is being excused from meetings.) He held this one in English. He was so angry
he wasn't even screaming. Pediatrics had gone even worse than the nightmare
everyone was prepared for. I thought he was pretty reasonable, for a man
who is criminally insane. He didn't name names, though everyone pretty much
knew his responsibility, except Stephanie who was most guilty and who wrongly
insists it was not her fault. Aya had called in sick again, so she didn't
have to hear it. He simply listed the myriad catastrophes that had struck,
almost all of which were eminently preventable. And he said calmly that this
would never happen again.
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: SAGReiss
Date: 17 April 2000
Subject: All you need to know
Anyone who has carefully read my e-mail of the past four days should know
what I took to work in my pocket today, or at least be able to guess. Let's
look at the text. On 13 April I wrote: "[and I'm going to copy and paste
here because this is textual criticism, so I need the exact text] But she
is truly beautiful." That was the gun placed on the mantle in chapter thirteen
of the great Russian novel. On 14 April I wrote: "I know what you bastards
are thinking: 'You say she's truly beautiful, but you don't make her sound
that way, and you forgot her nose, which is on the vocabulary list.'" On
15 April I wrote: "Don't you remember? I'm quoting from memory: 'Nichelle
is the sun in our universe. And I am the force of gravity. My name is f=ma.'"
Later that day I quoted a letter of 23 March 1996:
Once again impressed by your letter, Annie Divine, I propose the following
gentleman's bet, as you are obviously a woman of calibre. I'm very sceptical
about Nichelle's friends as they are all "brilliant" in her words and I
know they can't all be so. If I win our little joust over time and music,
you'll let me make you a member of our World. If you win, I'll let you become
a member. Nichelle will tell you this is eminently right and fair, and she
will be judge, jury and executioner of our contest. She (and this may surprise
you) and not I is the sun of our World. I am gravity and my name is f=ma.
While my mass won't impress an FWB like yourself, my acceleration is enough
to sober up Albert Einstein after a long night sniffing ether in his lab
at Princeton. I have spent many an evening hitting the bottle with Atomic
Al and we are both the better man for it. As for John Boy Keats (He was listed
in the NCAAs at five foot, still a record, but was closer to four-eleven.)
he has no problem with me. We met in his house in Rome, where he died after
writing those heart-breaking letters back to Merry Old England. Among his
last words were the bit about negative capability, "When I die I shall be
among the English poets," and the final, endless "I hate to say good-bye".
On 16 March I wrote: "Her body is truly beautiful." By now you should know
what I had in my pocket when I walked to work this morning. But since you
don't, I am going to show you how this works. Words are self-referential.
They have no meaning, but they do have consequences. They meet in my brain,
rattle around, and produce new words, and these words in turn have consequences,
and these consequences may spill over into the world of things. There is
nothing special or interesting about the expression: "truly beautiful". It
is not original or arresting. When I repeated it, you had no reason to notice.
I was simply referring back to the previous day's e-mail, or so it seemed.
But when I quoted that long paragraph above, it might have told you something:
"Why is he doing that? What is he getting at?" To be honest, I didn't know
myself, yet, which is one reason why you can throw out any illusions you
may harbor about author's intent. The author can't tell you about the text.
Only the text can tell you about itself. I didn't realize what I had done
until I was walking to work this morning, analyzing the last e-mail and composing
the next in my head. Last night I didn't know why I was repeating exactly
the same mundane expression: "truly beautiful". This morning I understood.
What does the expression "truly beautiful" mean? I don't mean: "What does
it mean to you?". I couldn't care less. I mean: "What does it mean in the
context (with the other texts) in which it has been placed?" And suddenly
everything became clear. The words "truly beautiful," the reference to Keats,
we know what this means: "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is all/Ye
know on earth, and all ye need to know." So what did I have in my pocket
when I left for work this morning? A copy of the ode "To Autumn" which I
had downloaded last night in order to offer it to Odelia because she had
asked me to teach her some new words in English, as she was teaching me new
words in Hebrew. I didn't give it to her because somehow it didn't work out.
I will probably never fuck Odelia. Do you want to know something? I would
rather write truly beautiful e-mail about Odelia than fuck her.
RECTVM VINVM
Scott Alexander Gabriel Reiss
From: Hillary
Date: 17 April 2000
Subject: Re: All you need to know
I wasn't sure if you had poetry in your pocket or not, because while it
seems entirely like you, it also seems entirely like you to have taken a rubber
in