Miss Wendy's Texas Love Advice
Plus Some Occasional Comments on the
State of the Popular Culture

L-R: Michael Mazocco, Wendy
R. Williams, Armistead Johnson
Photo: Stephen Mosher
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Dear Miss Wendy,
Where is sex better, in New York
or LA?
Sincerely,
Enquiring Joanne
Dear Joanne,
Neither. Here is the dichotomy.
Both New York and LA generate huge amounts of income
by selling the image of sex: movies; advertising;
fashion; etc. etc. But in both cities people are
so stressed out from “selling it,” they
are not very interested in actually “doing
it.”
In LA, there is the image problem.
You need a hot car, great clothes, $500 hair cuts,
a million dollar hovel and to be seen eating at
the hottest restaurants (the food at the Ivy couldn’t
be that good). And the stress of paying for all
of that leaves most Angelinos utterly exhausted.
New York residents have the same
stressors (with the exception of the car). But they
have an additional problem – their hair looks
like crap most of the time because you can never
catch a cab before your hair frizzes. And New Yorkers
are so narcissistic that they cannot get turned
on unless they think that they “themselves”
look good.
So here is Miss Wendy’s
new theory about just where people are interested
in sex; it is in the heartland where there is nothing
much else to do and there is the added aphrodisiac
of repression.
Miss Wendy came about this theory
as she attempted to fly home from Jamaica last month
(and no, I was not actually flying the plane). Dear
Miss Wendy was grounded in Charlotte, North Carolina
for one night only to be flown early the next morning
to Norfolk, Virginia where she was required to wait
for another five hours.
It was utterly horrifying. There
she was dragging her exhausted “Jamaicaned”
carcass through the hallways of the Norfolk airport,
past massive murals featuring Pat Robertson and
his Regent University; it was the ninth circle of
Dante’s Inferno.
Then, Miss Wendy drags herself
into the relative civilization of the airport Starbucks
and was sitting there when what should occur but
sex-in-the-heartland. A good looking young white
man came into Starbucks where he recognized a long
lost friend – a beautiful young black girl.
They then fell into an amorous embrace and proceeded
to make out in the Starbucks of Norfolk, Virginia
at 11AM for about five minutes (that is very long
time to be smooching). At first I was annoyed by
all the nibbling and smacking sounds (they were
standing right next to me, it went on forever and
I was in a really bad mood). But then I thought,
“They must have seen those murals of Pat Robertson
too and were just doing whatever they can to cheer
themselves up, or……… AHA, just
seeing Pat Robertson (The Godfather of Goody Goodies)
plastered on the walls turned them on.”
So here is Miss Wendy’s
suggestion for a new aphrodisiac: Get posters of
Pat Robertson, Jimmy Falwell, Gary Bauer, Tim LaHaye
etc. etc. and plaster them on your bedroom wall
(in front of a bowl of apples?) and turn sex back
into a compelling and forbidden fruit it was meant
to be.
Do you have a Question for Miss Wendy?
Email her at newyorkcoolstuff@aol.com
All of Miss Wendy's
old columns are in the New
York Cool Archive Section, listed under the
month in which they were published.
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