While teaching an alternative education course in the 1960s at the University of Pennsylvania, Einhorn once stripped naked and danced in the classroom after passing around marijuana to the students.
And finally, his ironic and irrelevant position on the drug war: “SWAT teams are not the solution to soft drugs. Compassion must rule wherein medical marijuana is concerned. Hemp should flourish, along with free energy and the UFO information that would allow people to create it.”
Postscript: Ira Einhorn was found guilty by a jury, and he is currently serving a life sentence.
HIPPIES WITH CELL PHONES
At first I thought the Oregon Country Fair would be like a mainstream state fair, with greased pigs and gigantic tomatoes and bumper cars. But I was wrong. This was the 33rd annual fair, celebrating the continuity of countercultural values, a weekend oasis at lush campgrounds near Eugene, peaking with 18,000 attendees.
It was the first year that there would be speakers in addition to music, crafts, food and creative tomfoolery. A headline in the statewide daily, the Oregonian, announced: “Ram Dass, Krassner Will Talk at Country Fair.” The article included the following:
“Ram Dass, the former Harvard psychologist who became a psychedelic pioneer and an admired spiritual teacher, will speak at the fair at 1:45 p.m. Sunday. Paul Krassner, a writer and comic who says he’s taken LSD with Ken Kesey, Dass, Timothy Leary and Groucho Marx (among many others), also will speak on Sunday afternoon and is scheduled to introduce Dass. That could be interesting, especially because a note on Dass’ Web site takes issue with a recent profile of Dass that Krassner wrote for High Times magazine. In it, Krassner wrote that Dass has retracted a story about how Dass once gave Maharaj Ji (his guru) a high dose of LSD and nothing happened.
“‘Just to set the record straight,’ reads the note on the Web site, ‘it is Krassner’s’s allegation which was fiction. Ram Dass was shocked by the statement in the article, and vehemently denies it. Krassner attributes the statement to some unnamed source, and admits that he did not check it with Ram Dass before publication. ’ In other words, Dass says he did not give Maharaj Ji a high dose of LSD and nothing happened. The amazing thing about this episode is not that these people are arguing about who gave how much LSD to whom, but that they can even remember any of it.”
Ram Dass and I have been friends for four decades, and I wrote a personal apology to him—“I hope you understand that in the context of a totally positive article, my intention was to reveal what I thought was a true example of the rascal aspect of your personality”—and a public retraction in High Times. We hadn’t crossed paths since, and now I was slightly nervous, but he greeted me with a smile and a warm embrace.
“I know you love me,” I said, “but do you forgive me?”
Ram Dass laughed and replied, “There’s nothing to forgive.”
He re-tells that story about giving acid to his guru in an illuminating 2002 documentary, Ram Dass: Fierce Grace. Producer-director Mickey Lemle says, “When I first met Ram Dass 25 years ago, one of his messages that touched me was that we are both human and divine and that we must hold both simultaneously. He would explain that if one goes too far in the direction of one’s humanity, one suffers. If one goes too far in the direction of one’s divinity, one runs the risk of forgetting one’s postal [Zip] code.
“So his stories and teachings were funny, self-effacing, and with an extraordinary grasp of the metaphysical. In form and content, his stories are about living on those two planes of consciousness, and the tension between them. His explorations took an univited turn when he suffered a massive stroke in February 1997. Now, he has been forced to live his teachings in a way he had not expected. He uses his current predicament to help others—one can see why he is considered one of the great spiritual teachers of our time, and how he is able to see his stroke as grace, fierce grace.”
In the documentary, Ram Dass comments: “This isn’t who I expected to be—my expectation didn’t have this stroke in it. Suffering comes when you try to hold onto continuity. I can’t shift my car. It’s so captivating to the consciousness, like I wanna see how the stroke capitulates my mind and then I wanna pull my consciousness out and be free in the middle of the stroke—an experiment in consciousness.
“I feel like an advance guard that calls back to the baby boomers, and now I call back about aging and things like stroke that are going to be in their present much sooner than they think. . . . My guru said suffering brings me so close to God. I was galumphing through life before the stroke, and I kind of thought that was it, that was all there was, but the stroke, it’s like a whole new incarnation.”
At the country fair, on stage in his wheelchair, Ram Dass talked about his current struggle to love George W. Bush, and I had a flashback to thirty years ago, when he talked about his struggle to love Richard Nixon. He explained that he loves Bush’s soul and that Bush just happened to get a terrible incarnation this time around.
Ram Dass advised the audience to “take the ambiance of this fair into our lives because the instrument of greatest social action is the individual heart. Heart to heart rescusitation.”
At dinner, he described the fair as resembling “a medieval village.”
“Except,” I observed, “there are hippies with cell phones.”
In fact, a group of environmentalists were walking around the campgrounds with a placard: “No Fair for Cell Phones Near Schools and Homes.” They went past a woman who was talking on a cell phone, but she stopped for a brief moment.
“No worries,” she assured the group, “I am not a school or a house.”
Organizer Laura Stewart told me. “This event is definitely into its second and third generation. Children learn that it is okay to have fun with their parents, be passionate about life, and live with an open heart. The bliss from the Oregon County Fair flows into the surrounding communities all year round. Those who participate know that we are not alone in our beliefs and values. We are stronger, louder and more visible because of our unity in celebration.”
This particular year, the fair had a theme: to honor the memory of Ken Kesey.
“There are those,” I told the audience, “who now envision Kesey on that Great Psychedelic Bus in the Sky, with Neal Cassady at the wheel, Jerry Garcia on guitar, and Timothy Leary on acid. But Kesey’s little grandchild, upon learning of his death, only wondered, ‘Now who will teach us how to hypnotize the chickens? ’”
The Merry Pranksters had parked the descendant of their psychedelic bus, “Furthur,” outside the entrance, and they were selling posters to help raise money for a statue of Kesey in the town square. There were two factions in Eugene. One wanted the statue to be Kesey sitting on a bench, reading a book to his three grandchildren. The other wanted the statue to be Kesey sitting on a bench, toking on a joint. The first statue won out.
“I don’t care,” insists the sculptor of the pot-smoking statue. “I’m gonna do it anyway.”
ONE HAND JERKING
WELCOME TO THE MASTURBATE-A-THON
This is for Ronald Castle, Sr., a supervisor with the Department of Social Services in upstate New York. A county employee for more than 30 years, he has been indefinitely suspended without pay while he is under investigation for harassment, criminal nuisance and public lewdness. He had been masturbating into the coffee cups of fellow employees. It gives new meaning to an old romantic song, “You’re the Cream in My Coffee.” Plus, Ronald Castle, Jr. is blessed with a renewed sense of gratitude that he is alive today, instead of having been burned to death at the moment of ejaculation and then swallowed by some unknowing caffeine addict.
But this was a case of self-love combined with other-hate, and if Castle is convicted, I believe he should be sentenced to a new kind of community service, where he can actually whack off for altruistic reasons. It started a few years ago when Good Vibrations, a shop in San Francisco specializing in sex toys, erotic books and adult videos, declared the month of May to be National Masturb
ation Month. A tradition was born. Since then, those in the know have been encouraged to obtain pledges from individuals and stores who sponsor their masturbatory events in cities across the country. The funds raised have been donated to various sex-positive causes.
Good Vibrations’ online customers were reminded: “Make sure you’re well-rested, with ready hands and plenty of batteries and lube—it’s Masturbate-a-thon weekend! You still have time to sign up your friends and family to help you raise money for every minute you spend masturbating this weekend. Spread the message of healthy self-love and collect funds for some excellent charities, all with a big ol’ smile on your face. Download the pledge from from our web site . . . Wank on!”
Gonzo sex writer and educator Theresa Reed, known as Darklady, organized and promoted—almost exclusively online—the first Masturbate-a-thon in Portland, Oregon. Her invitation stated, “Our special location will be revealed when you join the elite Benevolent Society of Masturbators (BOOM). Come dressed erotically (and patriotically?) . . .” There was indeed a patriotic theme: “Masturbate Your Way to Freedom.” Artist Steve Hess contributed the logo—an American Eagle clutching a vibrator and a tube of lube—and Darklady wore an Uncle Sam jacket, a top hat and an American flag which did not say, “Don’t come on me!”
The co-ed party—benefiting the National Coalition for Sexual Freedom, the Center for Sex and Culture, and Planned Parenthood—would feature free food and beverages, condoms and lubrication, DJ’s and live bands, strippers and porn stars, door prizes and streaming video onto the Internet. The ThrillHammer Orgazmatron machine proved to be a most popular competition. The woman who rode it the longest became the winner. She was crowned Miss Masturbate-a-thon 2002 and was presented with a lovely tiara, not to mention the afterglow of multiple orgasms galore.
There was a silent auction of goods donated by local businesses and national sex celebrities. Although the Masturbate-a-thon provided its own redeeming social value, informative literature was also available so that guests could learn more about the charitable groups they were helping to support. Promotional material from sponsoring companies was prominently displayed. Hey, can you even remember when masturbation used to be considered a taboo subject and shameful practice?
“Originally,” Darklady told me, “I planned on hosting this party at my home, as I’ve had many large sex parties there. However, when I began talking to the ThrillHammer people, we decided something bigger would be in order. Being online fanatics, we definitely wanted to go beyond the more grassroots, humble ‘masturbate-at-home’ events being held elsewhere. We held the party at the wonderfully pro-sex space at Ascension Dungeon and had some of the most agreeable and competent security folks I’ve had the privilege to work with.
“I was very impressed by the enthusiastic turn-out and the innovating things people did. One man brought a pyramid-like sex swing, local cable host Harry Lime came along with his camera crew to videotape the ThrillHammer fun, and people flocked to both the camera-friendly and camera-free rooms. We had no unpleasant incidents and everyone seemed to have a great time.”
The doors to the Masturbate-a-thon opened at 6 p.m. and the party ended at 2 a.m. Guests had to sign a liability waiver “in case you slip in your own spunk.” The main room was masturbation-free. Beyond that was a large open space with the Orgazmatron. “ThrillHammer excitement will be broadcast live on the Internet,” Darklady announced, “but the shy and saucy can protect their identity and still get a good internal massage by wearing one of the lovely masks generously donated by Bad Attitude. A modesty screen will also shield the especially shy from view. Please limit yourself to masturbation as this is, after all, a celebration of self-love.”
But May was not only National Masturbation Month. It was also officially designated as Teen Pregnancy Prevention Month. Isn’t it nice when different causes can work together like that?
VIRTUAL RAPE ON THE INTERNET
Although the California Supreme Court has declared that a man may be convicted of rape if his sexual partner first consents but later changes her mind and asks him to stop, a victim of date rape is unable to take advantage of that ruling. As a preventive measure, however, there is now a product on the market—paper coasters which theoretically test for date rape drugs—that is ringing up more than $20 million a year in revenue. These coasters have test spots which are supposed to turn dark blue in 30 seconds if a splash of alcohol contains the drugs that are often used to incapacitate victims.
When Andrew Luster, the millionaire great-grandson of cosmetics tycoon Max Factor and recently captured fugitive, was on trial for date rape, his defense lawyers attempted unsuccessfully to prove that he was actually an aspiring porn producer who was merely practicing his craft when he directed films in which women were only pretending to be asleep while he had sex with them, and that Luster actually intended to sell his porn flicks on the Internet.
The attorneys were foiled in their attempt to show excerpts of Luster’s home-made movies in order to counter testimony from women who would testify that they were drugged and raped at his beach house. Ironically, though, there are actual porn producers who merchandise rape videos, and they too claim that the women who are sexually assaulted are merely pretending to be raped. They may really be raped, who knows, but these companies are simply attempting to cover their own asses.
Scream and Cream, for example, includes this blatantly misspelled disclaimer on their Web site: “All models herein depicted were over 18 at the time of depiction and were copmensated [sic] for their play. We do not condoce [sic] non-done [sic] non-nocensual [sic] sex. This site is forced sex fantasy only.”
Another Web site, Forced Girls, can’t even spell their own name, as they promote “The #1 forsed [sic] site on the net.” And here is their come-on: “Tired of seeing teens all over the net that look older than your mum? We are too, this is why we created this site jam packed with only the youngest, barely legal girls forced to fuck and suck, prosecuted [sic] by their capturers and brutally punished.”
The Shocking Extreme Web site states, “Warning: Exclusive Content,” as though exclusivity were something kinky and forbidden. “She has no hope of escape,” they boast. “These guys are pro’s [sic].”
Uncensored Russian Rapes describes itself as a “Unique Russian rape site with fully exclusive Russian content. Different rape situations, pictures like rape with weapons, rape in the cars, gang rape, teen rape, amateur rape plus hundreds of real rape movies.”
There is an urban myth in Russia that having sex with a virgin will cure AIDS. This dangerous myth has resulted in an epidemic of HIV infected males violating virgins, especially teenagers, because of the insane belief that the younger the virgin, the more potent the cure.
“Do you want to rape a virgin too?” asks the site. “Enter at your own risk.” Although I don’t believe that those who download child pornography should be arrested, I do think that those who produce kiddie porn should get busted. Likewise, although I don’t believe that those who download sexual assault pornography should be arrested, I do think that those who produce rape porn should get busted—but only if it can be proven that the sex was non-consensual, and that ain’t easy. In fact, it’s virtually impossible.
In the Village Voice, Johnny Maldoro wrote about a video by porn director Lizzy Borden: “Part fictional snuff, over-the-top gore, and violent hard-core porn, Forced Entry won’t be taking home any AVN awards, and might even force the mainstream media to momentarily focus on our country’s largest entertainment industry. . . .
“To prove that her actresses knew what they were signing up for, Borden tacks a bunch of bloopers onto the end of Forced Entry. Veronica Caine’s wig comes off! Other wacky antics on the set prove the non-exploitative and even friendly relations between cast and crew members! For instance, Taylor St. Claire is totally ‘not pregnant.’ Those guys weren’t jumping on a real fetus.”
In Pakistan, the main human rights group reveals that in 2002, at least 461 women wer
e slain by family members in so-called “honor killings.” In such cases, women are murdered to protect the “family honor” for “offenses” such as dating, talking to men, having sex outside marriage, cooking poorly—and being raped.
Whereas, here in the United States, there was a TV documentary about a church sponsored “Hell House”—which was intended to scare religious teenagers out of engaging in any kind of sexual activity—and one girl’s reaction is worth placing in a time capsule for future reference.
“The rape scene is the best,” she said, “because you get to dance.”
MAILER ON MATING AND MASTURBATION
When Norman Mailer wrote his first novel, The Naked and the Dead, he used a euphemism—“fug”—for fuck. The first time I encountered Mailer, I asked him if it was true that when he met actress Tallulah Bankhead, she said, “So you’re the young man who doesn’t know how to spell fuck.” With a twinkle in his eye, Mailer told me that he replied, “Yes, and you’re the young woman who doesn’t know how to.”
I saw Mailer again at City Hall Park in New York at the height of the Cold War. We were both among a thousand citizens committing civil disobedience against the law that required us to seek shelter during an air raid drill. Umbrellas bearing the legend Portable Fallout Shelter were held up while the crowd sang “America the Beautiful.”
As soon as the air raid siren sounded, the chief of police announced, “Officers, arrest those persons who do not seek shelter!” The cops seized those persons who were nearest to them, including Mailer. Then the all-clear siren sounded, and the rest of the protesters began to disperse.
When I originally launched The Realist in 1958, I had requested an interview with Mailer. He declined, but in 1962, after I published an interview with Joseph Heller when Catch 22 was released, Mailer called me. He was finally ready. We met at his home in Brooklyn Heights. Mailer sat in a chair, poised like a prize-fighter. And I was his sparring partner.
One Hand Jerking Page 9
