January 22, 2021, by Tosh Berman

 

January 22, 2021

I have great admiration for people like Porfirio Rubirosa and Malcolm McLaren. Two hustlers on the make. Both would be OK to sell you anything you desire, and if you don't wish for anything, they'll find something for you to desire to. Malcolm has ideas and schemes to invent a culture of some sort.  Mr. Rubirosa basically just wanted to drive fast cars, play polo, and screw rich women. Rubirosa said, "I will risk everything to avoid being bored," but I think McLaren would follow that role in life.  

When Rubirosa was hard, Truman Capote reported to have seen him in this state, and he said 11 inches. "Eleven-inch café-au-lait sinker as thick as a man's wrist." A man asked him for advice in sexual manners. Rubirosa told him, "If you are going to have a hot date, then jerk off in the afternoon so that it takes you longer at night. You'll be a hero!" He wasn't born wealthy, nor had he ever had a full-time job; still, money found him. Rubirosa said, "Most men's ambition is to save money. Mine is to spend it." He married five times, and two of his wives were Doris Duke and Barbara Hutton.

Both Porfirio and Malcolm had plans for the present, never for the future, and the Past was used for either inspiration or personal connections. McLaren had a vision for himself in a world that he could create. Rubirosa was satisfied until another beauty came upon him or his finances dried up. The thing is that they successfully made their own identities and managed to live a full and argument ally a productive life. I think of these two men, and then I think of those who invaded the Capital a few weeks ago.

These are not men and women of great ambition, but just fulfilling a desire that can't be filled. I have met some of these people throughout the years. They are always got the short end of the stick. They're very proud to be an individual or that they can think for themselves. Still, the truth is they are totally ground meat to men like McLaren and Rubirosa. Even someone like Steve Bannon knows how to cradle stupid people's egos and somehow get the loose change from their pockets.  

Still, there are those who have no talents in social grace, understand or reading another person's moods or desires. Sometimes they're naturally sweet, but the mechanics of politics and power are either too gross or have a total lack of skills in dealing with people of that world. The frustration adds up when they are ignored, and why shouldn't they be? What do they have to offer? 

When they realize they have no hope or skills, they believe conspiracies why they are placed in such a position of no power, no economic strength, or the ability to see their creative talents. All they can do is complain, and feel resentment toward a world that has no interest in them.  The beauty of Malcolm and Rubirosa is that they really don't care what people think of them. Their game is to enjoy life and not allow a moment to go sour. Some people just dwell on the sourness of life, and eventually, it shows in their behavior and, ultimately, their fears. Insecurity is like a virus. If you hang out with them, you too will get it. 

September 30, 2014

September 30, 2014

I will be leaving my home, or I should say running off from my current location.  I’m the type of guy who throws his hat on the bed, and that becomes my pad.  But now, at my advancing age, this will most likely be my last trip… of any kind.  Nevertheless, I just have to keep a brave face on and not let the others down.  I have always looked for a paradise, and most would like to say an island such as Hawaii or Tahiti fits that bill, but for me it will always be Asakusa.  Not an island, by itself mind you, but part of the bigger island that is Japan.  Or perhaps the island that is actually my mind.

The airline I’m taking is Japan Airlines, where once you enter, you must take your shoes off.  The entire plane has a series of tatami mats, and of course you can only wear socks on the material that is basically rice straw.  Once you get your seat, the stewardess offers you a hot towel to wipe your hands and neck.  Once you finish refreshing oneself, you then get a foot massage from them as well. It lasts maybe only three minutes, but it's a nice introduction to the mysterious Orient.  And one hasn’t even taken off to the heavenly blue skies.

I have high friends in high places.  One is being a gentleman by the name of Shintaro Ishihara.  A writer who specializes on the subject matter of the Japanese sun tribe of the late 1950s.  Not the first rebellious youth movement, but surely the most nihilistic group of young Japanese boys and girls who love and live for the beach culture.  He eventually made a sharp right hand turn and became the mayor of Tokyo.   Due to his reputation and fame, we in the past have met in secretly at a bar in Shinjuku, which is located on the top floor of a sushi boat place that is on the floor level.   It’s an odd bar that only plays the music of Marc Bolan’s first band Tyrannosaurus Rex.  What makes this place even odder, is that they mostly have  photographs of Steve Took (the bongo player) than Bolan on its walls   That is here and there, I’m sitting on the plane reading Truman Capote’s horrible novel “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” and having a glass of cold sake.

Many hours later, the plane of no hope arrives at Narita, where I decided to take an airport bus to a hotel in Meguro, Tokyo.  One hour and a half I’m in the middle of a hotel lobby looking forward to getting a room. I think my adventure will start now, but who knows, I can’t predict what will happen.  I’m just a writer you know.

"Answered Prayers" by Truman Capote (Vintage)

Why I picked up what some consider to be Truman Capote's worst work is to this day a mystery to me.  I was at Alias East Bookstore on Brand, and I had $7 more credit.  Due that I didn't want to hold on to a credit in my pocket for the next week or so, decided on this as a mood purchase.  Also I recently got back from New York City, and I wanted to read something 'classic' from Manhattan aesthetic.  My understanding is that "Answered Prayers" was a novel that Capote never finished, but talked about consistently on TV chat shows, and through the print media.  He was consistently late in delivering the final manuscript to his publisher, and some thought, for awhile at least, that this work doesn't really exist.  Perhaps due to his alcohol/drug dependance of the time, or plain old writer's block.

Once he did publish an excerpt of the book, a chapter called "La côte Basque," and hell opened up to him and swallow him and his book.  The controversy was that he based this story on real people, even including their real names.   Society pretty much threw him, as well as literary critics.  Keep in mind the only other book I read by Capote was "Breakfast at Tiffany's" a novella that did nothing for me.   So, I read "Answered Prayers" thinking it will be a slighter version of the inferno, but alas, it was a pure joy.

One, Capote's really bitchy and funny, and two, he is a remarkable stylist as a writer.  I may have trouble with him as being a narrative type of writer, but for someone like me who enjoys a good sentence or two, Capote is my guy, for now.  Also I have a deep respect for gossip being part of social history.  Gossip may or may not be true, but it speaks a greater version of truth in the narration that is history.  Capote attempted to capture the genius of Marcel Proust, but I think he failed.  But what he did capture was a moment in time, and a time that was very much Capote's last stance in that world.  Surely he knew that once he writes this, he will never be part of that world again.  Is that what happened to "Answered Prayers?"  Nevertheless this is an excellent document of life in Manhattan for the few, and luckly Capote is one of the few to capture that series of moments.