While I’m waiting for the publishers, I’ll just gab…

You know, this thing struck me about blogging recently… It’s made me have more faith in people, not less. I’ve always been the kind of person who tends toward suspicion, even as a child. I remember going to work with my father one day, I think I was about twelve, another executive had brought his little boy, he was about half my size. It was a more trusting time, but I wasn’t a trusting child.

I remember walking around the studio holding his hand in mine and feeling responsible for him. We were walking down halls and in and out of offices, and drafting rooms, and saying hello and moving on. Most of the people we came across were chatty and in groups and (I think) happy to see the rare child in their midst. But then we walked into an office where a man sat all by himself. (And no, babies, it wasn’t Woody Allen.) He seemed too interested in us, too talkative, and wanted to show us something which I remember politely declining, and propelling my little friend away from him, and dragging him down the hallway as fast as I could. We got on the elevator and I took my small friend directly back to my father’s office. I think we had ice cream in the commissary afterward. Everything was fine. The man in the office hadn’t said anything inappropriate, he just made the hair on the back of neck rise.

I don’t know. Maybe I’ve just never trusted guys who wear corduroy jackets.

Anyway, back to the point. Beside the various obvious dark alleys of the Internet and places I shouldn’t, and don’t, stray into… This has been a positive, a more than positive experience. It’s astonishing how good people are, and how willing to befriend, and anxious to communicate. I love it here.

photo-Une-Allumette-pour-trois-Three-on-a-Match-1932-2

21 comments

  1. Yikes, I had a corduroy jacket once, though in my defense, that was during the “Flashdance” era when the govt. was putting stuff in our water to destroy everyone’s fashion sense. One day not too long ago, while waiting for a haircut, I flipped through a copy of GQ and saw some of my favorite places (like Portland, OR) on a list of “worst dressed cities in America.” That kind of validated my taste in favorite places.

    I know this is off track, but it’s something else to consider while you wait….

  2. George Kaplan

    And we love you being here, Queen Vickie! Oh, and remember, sometimes it makes sense to be suspicious… 😉 (Now…must…hide… corduroy jacket… Heh heh heh!)

    • I have a friend who is a costume designer and she likes to go through my wardrobe snatching things to give away. Once in a while she’ll hold something at arm’s length and pronounce, “You may wear this to garden, only!”

    • I think it takes a bit of getting used to, and selective viewing. I could tell you tales of the young one and the teenage desire to stir things up… But that would be a different weblog entirely!

  3. oooo, that was a flashback to an earlier vision board circa 2003 if we’re not mistaken (that image – not creepy men in dubious jackets in offices 😉

    yes.

    this Whole Experience has renewed our faith in virtual friends too.

    and RL ones with lovely sitting rooms with pianos and Mister-husbands and roses.

  4. Heather in Arles

    I love it here too. But as I have said, it is so only because you are such a wonderful host. And actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if quite a few of the Beguilers are those just like yourself, who tend towards suspicion and are relieved to have found a place where they can just let their shoulders drop a bit because noone is going to take a bite out of you. That certainly applies to me. I didn’t survive living in Hell’s Kitchen in the 80s without a certain Scooby sense you know.
    Gros Bisous.

      • Heather in Arles

        Oh I really don’t think that you meant snogs! Or maybe you did but whew that would make you one sly minx. 😉

        Yes, Hell’s Kitchen was my main home that I love. Deary me do I have stories. The basic scenario is thus: my Sister and I, both wanting to make it on the Big White Way (she in musicals-and she did, me with a far too ahead of my time wish to make straight plays fashionable again) thought that the smartest move would be to…evidently…live where the theatres are! We found a one bedroom (yes, as the younger I slept on the living room futon) on 43rd between 8th and 9th which was at that time…Crack Central. Yep, even the cops looked the other way with guys smoking it right in front of them. I saw it many times! So, needless to say, it was just slightly insane. I remember being chased to the gate of my building and hands trembling as I punched in the code “1969” just in time and I mean just. Oh, there are many other stories but I will leave you with that…

      • Ah oh! Is a snog what you and I would (in a previous life time) refer to as a French kiss?

        I had friends who lived in the city, I was always stunned by the NUMBER of locks on the doors to their apartments, but when just getting to your door is dangerous… Scooby sense indeed!

      • Heather in Arles

        A snog is a makeout session! :à
        When my Sister and I moved into our second apartment on 51st between 8th and 9th, there were, believe it or not, unlocked swinging doors that led into a tiny entry and then there was the locked door and buzzers to get into the building. Well, your little redhead went out to the clubs six nights a week for a few years then and I can’t tell you how many times, I would stumble into that vestibule only to find it occupied…with a wino passed out that had peed on himself or a junkie with a needle at his side!

  5. Me too; I love it here. It’s like RL but with all the “meanies” and nasty, annoying people removed. I have lovely positive conversations online and then, in RL, have to tear my hair out over the insanities of insurance claims, and the idiotic bureaucracy of Govt departments.

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