I have very few female friends. Part mistrust –aaah women– part personality, and in part it just happened this way. At work, I’m usually the only woman in a group of many men, but never on a pedestal, never undermined. And just back from a few hours with my favorite female friends, I feel praised, strong, and compassionate towards my gender (though still despising the small ones that need a guy to feed their soul and have no self-respect whatsoever).
My friend Christine Nazareth is one of these women I deeply admire, an eternal source of inspiration. Like me, Christine left Brazil to live in LA and multi-task in arts & entertainment as a source of joy, was a muse of great men in her 20’s and got pregnant at 45 completely unexpectedly. Pregnancy at this age is a divine intervention btw, a winning lottery ticket, and Christine cashed out big time: Ben is the Perfect Boy. Christine coasted the intelligentsia in the 70’s and 80’s, was mentored by Henry Miller; and we laughed out loud remembering anecdotes of those days…. how he’d walk the entire city of LA in times of no money, how his daughter forgot his remains the day after he was cremated in the restaurant she had dinner, how his blood pressure would go up at the sight of a naked breast. Then from his wonderful quotes, on appropriate for the moment: when you’re miserable, every crocodile is with you, but when you have the guts to be happy, that’s where the threat relies to see who sticks. Anyway we’re starting to write about the female universe, and the silly questions abound: why is it that we are hardwired to think that perfect love is right around the corner?And that we forgive the endless lies in name of hope? Why are we overly dramatic, chatty, and teary? Why do our emotions run in torrents? why do we accept the quasi-misogyny of the BF as if it were normal? was it Photoshop that made every woman get naked or was it time? are we all really a little crazy? Do we really know that much? Oh this is endless….