An Open Letter To a Politically Depressed Salonista

My Dear Ms. Lloyd,

Recently, in between fielding dozens of "thank-you-so-much-I-had-a-wonderful-time" calls from people who attended my Valentine's Eve Opening and "Celebration of the New Morality for the Next Millennium," I happened to read your review in Salon. Since you titled the piece "Dr. Block's Little House of Sexual Horrors: A Grotesque LA Event Proves that When It Comes to Being Unsexy, It's Really Hard to Beat Sex," I knew from the start that you'd had a bad night.

Feeling truly sorry that you were so miserable at an event where almost everyone else had great fun, I called you to offer my sincere apologies. After all, eroticism is in the eyes, ears, nostrils, tastebuds and fingertips of the beholder, but your very personal discomfort seemed to go far beyond just not being turned on. With all due respect, Ms. Lloyd, judging from your article, you appear to have a profound aversion to sex in almost all its forms. Since you haven't returned my call, I'm writing you this public letter to help you understand your problems, as well as to help your readers and editors see some of the deceptive factual errors of your "reporting."

Let's begin with the title of your piece: "Sexual Horrors"? That's quite a sensationalist title, leading me, the reader, to believe that you are about to describe a scene of gang rape, child molestation or perhaps forced female circumcision. No such things occurred at my opening, of course. The worst "horror" you could conjure up is the sight of a good-looking married couple "fornicating" in our art gallery.

Which leads me to the second part of the lengthy title of your piece: "When It Comes to Being Unsexy, It's Really Hard to Beat Sex." Excuse my candor, Ms. Lloyd, but when it comes to bad writing, it's really hard to beat that sentence. Basically, you are saying that "sex" is "unsexy." Many things can be considered unsexy, of course, but sex itself? To write that sex is unsexy is rather like writing that beauty is not beautiful, pain doesn't hurt, pleasure doesn't feel good, or a rose is not really a rose. This philosophy of yours, that "sex (is) unsexy" continuously informs the carping, resentful, deeply depressed tone of your entire piece, during which you never once mention anything that you do find sexy at my Speakeasy or anywhere else, for that matter.

What is it that you find sexy, Ms. Lloyd? French fries? Teletubbies? Heroin? Violence? Just wondering…

Well, back to your artless article. You open by describing that very attractive couple (Cassandra and Anthony) having sex in our art gallery. Your second paragraph immediately betrays a significant journalistic error. I spoke with the "silver-haired, barefoot woman" you mention, and she swears she never said that Cassandra and Anthony's spontaneous sex act was "shitty porno." Your journalistic "license" is already off to a truth-hurdling start. Then you have a speaker (your sister-in-law?) assume that Anthony, a man who is engaged in energetic intercourse with his wife, is "gay." Why? Because he's good-looking? Your withering dismissal of this loving couple's impromptu public sex (and no, they were NOT paid) as "deeply, utterly unsexy" seems to me to be deeply, utterly dripping with envy, spite, frustration, personal misery and pseudo-intellectualized small-mindedness.

You go on to describe me (not so very unflatteringly, thank you) and my "groaning résumé" (sorry if I have too much background for you to handle, Ms. Lloyd), as well as my enticing invitation. You point out the "steep ticket prices," though you neglect to say that, since HBO was filming the event (they asked us if they could film after the invitations were sent out), very few guests actually paid to attend, a fact which Max made a point of telling you before you came here. You and your brother and sister-in-law didn't pay a cent to get in, did you? You envision "glamour and revelry, dosed with social responsibility and sprinkled with transgression," a near-perfect description of the evening that most of my guests actually experienced.

Next, you write tremulously about walking down "a dark street of boarded-up buildings past men huddled in furtive transactions." Didn't you know our Institute/Speakeasy was in Downtown LA, Ms. Lloyd? You were told the locale. What did you expect to walk past, white picket fences with kids selling lemonade? And what's the matter with a little urban ambiance? The street people didn't harm or even bother you. Or are you just too suburban to find "glamour…sprinkled with transgression" in an underdeveloped downtown environment?

Then you complain indignantly about the HBO folks asking you to fill out release forms (they are required by law to get this information from you), which Max told you would happen long before you graced us with your and your family's presence.

Judging by your next paragraph, I think you must have neglected to inform your relatives that HBO would be there (you also neglect to tell the reader, as you told Max, that your "friend" and her "husband" are actually your sister-in-law and brother. Speaking of which, who attends a shamelessly erotic event with their own brother, except perhaps someone with incest fantasies or a fetish for trashing erotic events?). Moving along…the lights on my stairwell may have been bright (remember, HBO was filming us!), but they were not "fluorescent." If you're going to be so squeamish, the least you should be is accurate.

In the midst of this paragraph, you descend into some of poorest writing I've seen, even on the Internet. You write "It would be unkind to call these Barnumesque figments people." Huh? Since when is it unkind to call someone a person? Or did you mean to write, "It would be kind…" Don't forget to read your pieces over once or twice before publishing them, or perhaps Salon needs a new copy editor? Okay, assuming you meant "it would be kind…," where do you get off implying that these men and women are not people? What kind of drugs were you taking? Whatever you were on, you seem aghast at the abundance of "vulvas and phallae." What did you expect to see at an erotic event, Ms Lloyd? Hangnails and harelips?

You admit that "the dress code has been largely obeyed," but don't appreciate this fact, even though you cited the dress code (lingerie, pajamas, formal attire, uniform, naked in a trenchcoat, or stylish slutwear) as one of the reasons you found the evening "intriguing." But then you deride these people (whom you say are not really people) who have honored me so thoughtfully and creatively by dressing up for my opening. Would you have preferred for everyone to have worn ill-fitting gray business suits? Does nothing please you, Ms. Lloyd? What time of month is it for you? Then, you give us another convoluted phrase that would have earned you a C- in my high school English composition class: "the obscenity of imagery is far more striking than the imagery of obscenity." Huh? Let's not waste space deconstructing this meaningless but mean-spirited passage.

Next, you describe your own rather foolish costume (what was with that furball of a hat you had ontop your head?), admitting that you yourself "dressed down," i.e., not honoring our dress code. Well, Ms. Lloyd, we do tend to get out of evenings like this what we put into them. You didn't "dress for sex," and you consequently didn't feel sexy. As I recall, when I saw you, I thought you were dressed to repel people. But I am the first to admit that one person's idea of repellent is another's idea of erotic, and I was naïve enough to think that maybe that furball on your head was your eccentric idea of erotic. Silly me, I should have known that you were dressing to express your contempt for sex before you'd even walked up my downtown street.

Yawn. I must say I'm getting rather bored with this endless article of yours. It's so tedious and sanctimonious. But I shall soldier on for the sake of truth and criticism.

Your next few paragraphs describe your encounter with one of my guest/fans who also happens to be one of your "recent career counseling clients." A couple pages later, you have him say "your class was really good…I got a new job. In fact, I got two new jobs." Sheesh, talk about "self-promotion." Ms. Lloyd, you should hang your furballed head in shame. What is this, an article about my opening or an advertisement for your class?

Next you describe my husband Max showing you an exquisite erotic sculpture and a tongue-in-cheek "Panties-in-a-Bottle," both of which you find "profoundly depressing." Wow, I'd hate to hear your reaction to a photo of starving children. Have you considered Prozac, Ms. Lloyd?

Then you come to Lavonne (whose name you spelled wrong; check your invitation and program). You gripe about her "pawing" herself and "ripping off her corset." If you wanted to see Donnie and Marie, why did you come to an erotic event? And again, you whine about the presence of HBO. Do you work for Showtime, or what?

Now you have me making my "grand appearance." I have no complaints about your description of me, "dressed like a Victorian hysteric who has had one too many clitoral massages from her doctor." Hey, if you ask me, you can never have "too many" good clitoral massages! You save some of your best writing for your rather vivid, evocative portrait of me, and I appreciate that. I do not appreciate your blatantly misquoting me. I never said "from black people, we learned spirit." I've never said anything like that in my life! And again, you get the names wrong. Of the three people doing "back-up" for my "Old-Time Sexual Revival," two were black (Lavonne and Isaiah), and one was white (Roy). Isaiah, was the "modestly dressed African-American man" you correctly identified as one of the "characters" who hangs out on the street, but incorrectly called "Brother Roy." If you had cared to inquire, you would not only have learned his name, but you'd have found out that we have given this "character" a paying job with our Institute. If that's not real, day-to-day "social responsibility," Ms. Lloyd, I'll eat your furball.

I'm pleased you get the meaning of "ethical hedonism" essentially right. Though how you can say that "Roy (I guess you mean Isaiah here) and Lavonne's presence complicates the simplicity of the message" is beyond me. Do you think ethical hedonism is only for white folks, or what? Or is it that you believe that sex can't be spiritual?

Next, you attempt a dig at my satirical piece on Ken Starr by writing that I "tried to get a squirt of national attention" with it. Well, if getting lauded by Entertainment Weekly, The New York Observer, The New York Times, The Spectator, and the conservative Weekly Standard, isn't getting my fair squirt of national attention, I don't know what is. Then you complain that "the theme of Clinton's victory seems equally contrived." Ms. Lloyd, we'd planned this event back in December. There was no way we could "contrive" the President's exoneration to occur on the day before our opening. It was a genuine coincidence.

And again, you grumble about HBO. Then you toss me a bone of appreciation for my "opting for reality over image." Thanks for the bone, but I don't think I'll taste it, considering all the false and viperous other things you've written here.

And about the food. My Mom always taught me to have plenty of good food when company comes, so I am particularly incensed and even personally hurt that you call our Aphrodisiac Buffet a "meager feast." You list "cheese and crackers, grapes and lox." What about the broiled shrimps, fresh breads, the caviar and cream hors d'oeuvres, the mangos, bananas, kiwi fruits, the strawberries and whipped cream, the macadamia nuts, fresh figs, and four kinds of chocolate, not to mention the herbal Spanish Fly drops and flavored Body Jam and Body Butter? If you think that feast was "meager," Ms. Lloyd, you need to go on a diet.

Next, you correctly observed that members of one of the rock bands were upset when we told them to turn their music down because HBO needed a clean sound track. But no one "nearly came to blows." My Max may have a booming voice and an imposing presence, but he has never committed an act of violence, except in pure self-defense, and I take grave exception to your implying that he would.

Your next error is a spelling one (but please, can't you Salonistas get a competent copy editor?). Lavonne's outfit consisted entirely of a leopard tail, Ms. Lloyd, not a "tale."

Next, you attempt to mock two of my guests who are art dealers. What won't you attempt to mock, Ms. Lloyd? How vacuously nasty can you get? Didn't your parents ever hug you when you were little? Then, we stumble onto another of your mistakes. You write that the "Rodeo Drive businessman" shows you a "briefcase full of glass vibrators." Those are plexiglass dildos, Ms. Lloyd. Vibrators either have batteries or electric cords. And real glass would be a rather dangerous material for intimate sex play. Get a bit of basic sex education before you attempt to write about another sex event, please.

Finally, we come to your "climax," which also served as your opening: Anthony and Cassandra having sex in our art gallery. You don't see the eroticism of this moment, which is sort of understandable (you're into furball caps and furtive incest, right?). But you are also utterly blind to the humor of this moment, the adventure, the juxtaposition of art and pornography, the pure impromptu outrageousness of it, and the real physical expression of love between a beautiful, courageous woman and her gallant, handsome husband (whom you again call "gay"-Why? Is this more gratuitous nastiness, homophobia or just plain stupidity?). The immense "sadness" you describe feeling upon witnessing this "explicit eroticism" is most troubling, Ms. Lloyd. Have you considered counseling? Maybe you just need a good cry. Or maybe you've been watching too many "horror" movies. Maybe you need to take a writing class.

Well, we've come to the end of your piece and my rope. But I'll still hold out an olive branch, mainly out of pity for your apparently severe depression. You can call me anytime at 213.749.1330 or e-mail me at drsuzy@blockbooks.com, and I'll try to teach you a thing or two about sex, art, joy and writing.

Very sincerely,

Susan Block, Ph.D.

(Editors Note: To Read Ms. Lloyd's review of our Opening in Salon Magazine, Click Here.)

Need to Talk?

MEMBERSHIP HAS ITS
P L E A S U R E S

Dr. Suzy in Dutch Cock Hat
Photo: Tom Zimmerman

SITE INDEX I WHAT'S NEW? I. MEMBERSHIP I.THERAPY