undefined
Well my little Chicketies, I found this article on the net and it was simply too perfect not to share it with you all. And this time, the thoughts really are from the one, the only, the often incoherent, Natalie Merchant:
Jane - December 1998
I Don't Understand Men, but I Love Them Anyway
by: Natalie Merchant as told to David Thorpe (pg 149-151)
When I was 19, I snuck into the V.I.P. balcony at a jazz club because I heard Natalie Merchant was up there. She was. I introduced myself, grinning
like an idiot. To my shock, she flirted with me and even fiddled with my scarf - I think she was a little tipsy. We talked about the local music
scene, and I promised to make her a tape of some area bands. I sent it to
her, and soon afterward, I got a thank-you postcard addressed to "The Boy
From the Balcony."
A touching story, yes; but a decade later, sitting on Natalie's baby-blue
couch in New York and working with her on this article, I discovered that
she totally didn't remember me - and that I was only one of many male
correspondents. Oh, well.
- David Thorpe.
Chapter 1: Natalie discovers boys
I was boy crazy when I was a little girl. It was boys, boys, boys - one
crush after another. The first boy I was in love with was Allen Clark. He
lived on my street, and when we were in kindergarten, we used to go to the
gardens around this big mansion on the corner and play house in the lilac
bushes. We'd organize a little home, and he'd bring me flowers, and we'd
kiss. It was really, really sweet. Then he went to a Catholic school, and I
went to public school - but I carried a torch for him until fourth grade.
In high school there were divisions of guys. There were the farm boys, who were part of the Future Farmers of America - they knew how to fix cars and tractors (they were usually part of the Gun Club, too). Then there were the "sportivos," who were great at sports. When I didn't make the cheerleading squad in seventh grade, that turned me off to them. And there were the nonconformist guys, who were a lot older than me - they were already in college when I was still in 10th or 1 lth grade. They went to school at New York University or Tufts, and when they came home in the summer, I'd sort of trail around behind them like a puppy, until their fathers would say, "She's 15! You're 22! What are you doing?!"
When I was a teenager, guys took a lot of pride in how many girls they'd slept with. Girls didn't seem to do that. They were more into having one guy. I think that might be part of our biology; because we carry children, we kind of look for the bond. When the sex is over, there might be a little residual effect - a baby - that we have to deal with, so I think women cling more.
When I was in my early 20s and on the road with 10,000 Maniacs, I would meet guys and fall in love pretty easily. Because we were touring, I wouldn't get to spend too much time with them, so I became a pretty devoted letter-writer - I couldn't afford to use the telephone. My favorite guy was an aspiring puppeteer who lived in Athens, Ga. One time we bought mice in a pet store and let them go because they were going to be snake food.
Chapter 2: Playing house
I don't like to segregate the world into two camps, men and women - it's
really sexist. But there's definitely something about guys and cars that I
don't understand. My boyfriend of almost six years is so attached to his
truck, a 1968 Bronco that barely runs. It's our one bone of contention. And
every time he drives it, some other guy will come up and say, "Man, what a
great truck!". Then again, I've never had a boyfriend who was into sports,
so I haven't had to endure the addiction to the sports-page thing, or having
a sporting event beamed into the living room on a wide-screen television
set. I've been really lucky that way.
Then there's the toilet-seat thing. It started with my brothers, and it's been like that every night I've lived with guys, no matter who: 10,000 Maniacs, my male roommates, my boyfriends, my dad, whoever - nope, can't put down the toilet seat. I guess it's just too much effort.
My boyfriend and I actually take turns being the guy of the house. I end up bringing stuff to the dump and replacing things that are broken just as often as he does. I don't expect him to clean the garage because he's a guy. I guess he's one of those modern, sensitive males, even though he'll hate me for saying so. You know, the kind of guys who like to cook and don't mind washing dishes and doing their laundry.
I've never had a relationship with anybody who expected me to do anything "traditional," and it would just mystify me if they did. On the other hand, I do enjoy the privilege of being able to get hysterical if I need to - but I don't like it when a guy gets hysterical. Yeah, I know that's sexist, too.
Chapter 3: Natalie is actually a man
In relationships, I'm the one who has to work harder to get my feelings out
than the guy. My boyfriend is the Master Communicator. His mother is a
psychologist, so I think he spent a lot of time being asked, "How do you
feel?" When someone asks me that question, I want to say, "I don't feel
anything.... Let's just go out to dinner."
Chapter 4: Oh, yeah, the sex should be really good
My favorite part of a man's body are his arms - the whole arm/hand package.
Men who can do carpentry are among the sexiest. I like hands that look like
they do a lot of physical labor, arms that can lift, that can pick me up.
(My least favorite part of a guy? The hair that comes out of his ears.)
I don't prefer a particular kind of lover - if I love the person, the sex should be really good. I was with a guy who talked dirty during sex once, though, and it was the beginning of the end. I like all those really sweet names men call women, like honey and sweetheart and baby doll, but there's a difference between that and a man saying baby in a really hokey voice. And if I ever met a man who named his penis, I'd run screaming from the bedroom. I'd definitely go answer the phone or something. Anything.
I have a few guy friends who are terminal bachelors. They just can't settle down. It's not like they're waiting for Miss Right; it's like maybe Miss A Little Better is around the corner. And then they wake up, and they're in their 50s, alone and balding, and there's lots of hair coming out of their ears.
Chapter 5: Miss Merchant gets respect, but no action
Now that I'm well-known, guys don't dare make advances. It's always, "Miss
Merchant, I appreciate your work," or "Thank you, Miss Merchant." I went to
the hardware store to buy a mop the other day, and the guy who waited on me
said, "Oh, Miss Merchant! I just saw your concert! Is there any way I can
help you?" I'm thankful that I get respect from men, but I'm curious about
what causes it - onstage, I'm not unattractive or frumpy, so why do I
intimidate them?
I have been told that a lot of guys (as well as girls) think of me as a sister, as someone who understands them. When they meet me, they want to say how grateful they are, and I understand that. I was in love with David Bowie when I was a teenager, but had I had the chance to meet him, the last thing I would've done was make a pass at him.
Chapter 6: Vive la difference!
It's tough for guys because they're expected to be pillars of strength, and
then we want them to be so sensitive. Men's roles used to be more clearly
delineated, and now we're in a period of flux. I think we'll all be better
off when there's more of a sense of equality.
But I don't want the differences to go away. I like the fact that there's mystery. I don't understand what motivates guys sometimes, but it would be really boring if that went away. That's a lot of the allure of men. You never completely understand them.
back to the start
bios of members
pictures of members
an introspective look at natalie merchant and the beat generation
archives of news and other non-sequitur ramblings
