Those were the days: One man. One wife. One sexual position.
Or at least one at a time. (Does that even make sense? Clang clang clang went the rimshot.)
In the mid 1960s my wife and I were Rockefeller Republicans. What a guy. Hit this link and scroll down to Death.
See. It's not the adultery that kills, it's the shame, the hiding, the evasion, the lack of proper CPR skills.
And thus this blog achieves redeeming social value.
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Michael: Read about you and Edith's early days as a member of Youth for Rockefeller. Although admittedly he is moldering in the grave, I am your six degrees of separation connection. I interviewed him at the Santa Monica Airport when he came to town for some fundraiser and I worked for the Evening Outlook (we knew it as the Evening Outhouse). The photo I have of this event shows us striding along in matching heavy hornrims. He said nothing of interest. Rockefeller, interestingly, was the first to gain celebrity for his opposition to the Goldwater movement that now rules the country. You may recall him grinningly giving the finger to the delegates who booed him at the Cow Palace. Such a gesture would today ruin a political career, but there have always been different rules for the rich, as you often point out. He went on to gain the vice presidency before quitting politics and dying in the arms of a paramour at what the papers called their love nest. Even his departure was the sort the poor can only dream of without great hope of fulfillment. His finale beat James' "I see the light" hollow, not to mention Oscar Wilde's "Either that wallpaper goes or I do." I regret that "love nest" has fallen into sad disuse in today's newspapers.
Ambrose
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