A & I watched Laurel Canyon tonight. I’ve vaguely been wanting to see it for a long time, well, quite a long time, obviously, since it’s four years old. Now I can’t imagine why I bothered (it's a thrillingly postmodern movie in which there are lots of pleasant wealthy people and nothing happens,) but, between that movie, other various movies and Six Feet Under, I have noticed something: people in California seem to fuck all the time. There’s just constant sex going on in California as far as I can see. Everything I know about California I am learning from the media, after all, and surely they would not lie to me. People in California have crazed hot monkey sex all day and all night, and not just regular boring old vanilla sex, either, but sex with all kinds of people and in all kinds of combinations: far more interesting sex than we will ever have back here on the puritan east coast.
I used to think I wanted to go to California, but I’ve had to rethink that, because my inner prude has woken up and that theoretical Mayflower ancestor of mine (the one who was a murderer and a convicted felon, the one I'm so proud of) is shouting in jealous rage from the back of my gene pool. I never thought I was a prude, but, according to Laurel Canyon, some things are de rigueur for novice Californians. Unfortunately I feel that having a threesome with my boyfriend’s mother is just not on the agenda, and if I was Brenda from Six Feet Under and engaged to be married? I wouldn’t be inviting stray teenagers in to my (extremely expensive & gorgeous, jesus) house to party. That’s the other thing. Just looking at the real estate makes me realize I can’t afford to even visit California, and what with that and the crazy sex, I guess I’d better just stay in North Carolina and be celibate.
Actually I’m pretty clear on the fact that I’m a prude, and getting prudier. I tried watching Wild at Heart the other night and I couldn’t make it all the way through. I saw that in the movie theatre when it first came out and I thought it was genius, but somehow I couldn’t watch it on my living room couch. I mean, the dog might have seen it. And, now that I’m a born again virgin and a late life prude, I knit on that couch. I watch TV and knit and make wry, unfunny comments at the screen. I think I’m 60. I know my livers’ 60, and I think my brain might be catching up. It’s the complete lack of sex, probably. I should go to California, but I’m afraid. Very afraid.