The Junk Of Love
Loved the wonderful "Modern Love" piece in The New York Times by my friend Susan Shapiro. (Back in the day, I was one of those attending the Tuesday night writing workshop, but at her old studio on 13th Street.)
Sue and I actually grew up about three miles from each other, in the Detroit suburbs, but only met years later in New York when the late Gael McCarthy, an editor at Parade, took me to a party at Sue's, telling me there was this "force of nature" I had to meet. And she was right.
One thing I really admire about Sue is how she's one of the most determined people I know -- as a writer and as a person. It shows in what she comes to in the end of this piece:
Back in the 1990s, when I heard that the curly-haired TV writer I was being fixed up with was in his 40s, had no children or previous wives and had never even cohabitated with a woman, I thought, "Great, no baggage."Luckily he waited until I was smitten before taking me to his apartment. He opened the door proudly, like he was a 24-year-old showing off his first solo abode. I was shocked by the dim, dusty, cramped hovel with shelves, cabinets and corners so claustrophobically overstuffed that I feared an imminent avalanche from above. A neat-freak thrower-outer like my Jewish mother in West Bloomfield, Mich., I was startled to realize that behind Charlie's tall, handsome exterior lurked a serious pack rat.
Every time I met single men who appeared too good to be true, I would jokingly ask: "What's wrong with you? Tell me now."
With Charlie, his apartment answered my question. I guessed this fortress of comics, cassettes and newspaper clippings was supposed to insulate him against whatever psychic trauma he had suffered in the past, as if his alter ego was Junk Man.
I had my own double identity. A misfit oldest child from a conservative suburban family, I reinvented myself as an urban tomboy in black clothes and cowboy boots, swearing with bravado. In my downtown studio, I smoked, drank and partied.
By 29, I was an almost-successful journalist who'd had my heart slaughtered a few times. So I recognized a mensch when I kissed one. Charlie had been sleeping on a ripped mattress on the floor. To prove that I wasn't an entitled princess and that I would cherish him for who he really was, I insisted we consummate our relationship right there, on that tattered bedding.
Sue's very funny new novel is Speed Shrinking
This column is so wise and witty and funny and charming. I think we can all relate!
My ex-fiance had a huge live-workspace that was quirky and wonderful and I thought I loved, clutter and all. I found out that the live and work spaces weren't really separated, that he had systems up the wazoo. Turned out I was being invited to live in his space when I'd read an invitation to help him make it into out space.
Flash forward a few years and many hours of naval gazing to figure out where my head had been to make these stupid choices.
My new, wonderful boyfriend was very nervous about inviting me over to his place. He shied at the thought, said he'd been rejected over the look of his pad. A month or so passed - we became closer, he became more comfortable.
Imagine my sigh relief when his place wasn't nearly so bad as he'd painted it. A bit grimy, sure, but not too bad. Mostly there was a sea of books and dvds ebbing and flowing across the floor. Sure it would be nice if they were in bookcases - but there as something almost comforting about their colors and textures twinkling across at me. It seemed to back up that there was nothing so bad it couldn't be overcome.
antoniaB at September 13, 2009 12:09 PM
My place is sort of airplane hanger meets giant squirrel.
Momomo at September 13, 2009 12:36 PM
Amy Alkon
https://www.advicegoddess.com/archives/2009/09/junk.html#comment-1667463">comment from MomomoLove that description, Momomo.
Amy Alkon
at September 13, 2009 12:42 PM
I spent my 20's working, thirties accumulating everything and more that I thought I needed, and now at 45 just want to get all the material shit in my file down to a bare minimum. My wife, on the other hand...
Eric at September 13, 2009 4:17 PM
While I would never presume to try to change a man, I have no qualms about changing their apartment. So far, they have been grateful for it.
liz at September 14, 2009 2:22 PM
was most amused by Susan's piece. My ex- helped me a lot with my clutter... she decided it was all hers. 'Twas quite liberating honestly. I hope whoever got all my LP's and such enjoys them.
SwissArmyD at September 14, 2009 2:45 PM
Amy Alkon
https://www.advicegoddess.com/archives/2009/09/junk.html#comment-1667676">comment from lizI only meddle in Gregg's health. Everything else I see as out of bounds.
Amy Alkon
at September 14, 2009 5:46 PM
"So far, they have been grateful for it." Liz
You mean they like you enough to accept it... you ARE trying to change them. It is a compromise when you move into a shared space, and pretty hard. When you change a guy's space that you aren't living with, you are TELLING him what to expect. Just like you tell him when he gets to the door "You're not wearing THAT, are you?" Um, yeah, I always spend time putting on clothes, just to have to run upstairs and change them for your whim.
Most guys will accept that, if it doesn't matter to them. Just don't delude yourself that they are not doing it just to please you. "But he likes the way I arranged his living room so much better, now that I threw away that ratty barcalounger." I guess you didn't notice the tightness around his eyes when he came back to his apartment to find everything rearranged, and a number of things missing...
"But he likes what I have done with..." is code for saying I don't care what he likes, this is what I like. Fortunately this is often a sign that he REALLY likes you.
But. It is astonishing how many guys find out when a relationship fails, that their partner was trying to erase their identity. It is also astonishing how many women on completing this process end up with a guy of their own making that they don't particularly like.
SwissArmyD at September 15, 2009 8:48 AM
It is astonishing how many guys find out when a relationship fails, that their partner was trying to erase their identity. It is also astonishing how many women on completing this process end up with a guy of their own making that they don't particularly like.
I've never understood why someone wants a lump of clay rather than a partner. I dated a young man rather seriously in high school who worshiped the ground I walked on. If I got up in the morning and told him that the sunrise was emerald green with purple polka dots, he would have agreed with me and spent 20 minutes telling me how beautiful it was. I eventually broke up with him. At my young age (15) it took awhile for me to convince myself that it was acceptable to break up with someone who was so sweet, nice, and loved the heck out of me. But, if I want a doormat, I will buy one at Target. One of the reasons I fell in love with my husband is because he will call me on my bullshit.
Now, at times I have asked my husband to change before we leave to go somewhere (Literally "Honey that shirt has a huge hole in it. Would you please change to a different shirt without any large holes?" {NO Sarcasm}) However, we have a simple rule...if one of us throws out a belonging of the others, we get to throw that person out. It's worked 15 years so far!
-Julie
Julie at September 15, 2009 10:22 AM
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