Sept. 21, 1999

Dear Mr. Blue,

I love my husband deeply. Most of the time he is a funny and kind man. However, when he is under stress he is prone to fits of rage. They are never directed at me and they don't last long, yet he feels the need to rant over trivial things. He feels that I am not being supportive if I don't commiserate in his woes.

It is starting to affect his job and our relationship. I'm afraid that most people do not get to see the good side of him, but only the overreacting beast who emerges in times of stress. I don't know how to help him or if I can. Is this something he should be getting professional help with?

Weary of the Anger

Dear Weary,

Yes, I think so. Anger is often a leading symptom of depression, especially in men. And it doesn't heal itself. And there are plenty of consulting psychologists who specialize in anger-management counseling. The problem, of course, is how to persuade the mountain to go to Muhammad.

You love this man and you are the best authority on how to encourage a little introspection that might let him see the problem. First of all, read up on the subject of anger and its management. You might find something in the literature that your husband would be willing to read. At some point, ask him to set aside a couple of hours for a family discussion -- schedule this, so he has time to think in advance. Is there a close male friend of your husband's, perhaps a brother or cousin he's close to, who might be willing to sit down with you and your husband and discuss his behavior -- his "emotionalism" or "crabbiness" or "explosiveness" or whatever term he'd be willing to admit to -- and how it affects other people. Somehow, in a calm way, you need to bring this to his attention and ask if he's willing, for his own sake, to work on controlling his anger. He may need to crash and burn before he's ready to get professional help, but you might be able to arrange an emergency landing.

Dear Mr. Blue,

I am not unattractive, not unintelligent, not terribly eccentric and only mildly shy. I've been on many first and second dates. I have made small talk, made eye contact, flirted, had a good time, thought my dates were having fun, but the second date always feels just like the first and there is rarely a third. Why can't I connect? I have made an endless string of acquaintances in my dating life but not a single friend (and obviously nothing more). How do "normal" people get to really know each other? How do they transition from small talk to big talk? Why do I keep getting lost on the road from Point A to Point B?

Hoping

Dear Hoping,

You're asking me how normal people do it? Me? A guy in St. Paul who sits in his garret chuckling to himself as he pens made-up stories about an imaginary town? Well, OK. It strikes me that something in you resists making that transition from "Lovely weather we're having" to talking about yourself, your life, your family, your hopes and dreams and fears, which is how people connect. There is a confessional stage, where you fill each other in on your respective histories, and each of you is avid to hear about the other. Avidity is hard to fake (and why would you want to?), and it's hard to fake a connection that isn't there. So perhaps you're saving yourself time by cutting these folks loose. But who is lining these dates up for you? A computer? Your Aunt Agnes? Whoever is scheduling your social life is not working on all six cylinders. Get a new appointments secretary. Don't date dolts. And if you date intelligent and attractive and interesting people, and you're still not connecting to them, then let's talk again.

Dear Mr. Blue,

My husband is an artist and fine-art framer and works at an up-and-coming art gallery with a friend, where his own work hangs and has been selling well as of late. His friend, however, is not the best of managers and short-sells my husband's work, never offers positive comments and keeps my husband out of the loop. When the business was in danger of closing at the beginning of the year, my husband took a fairly steep cut in wages. Now he's getting paid just a bit above minimum wage and has no benefits. He can't just quit, because he has a muscle condition that makes certain motor functions difficult. Fortunately, I'm in a good job and I have insurance. We live simply and are very happy with our books, CDs and camping trips. Sometimes I feel angry because I want him to get paid what he's worth.

He would like to make more, too, but his happiness at his job seems to outweigh the unhappy aspects. How do I best support him? How can I urge him on to find better opportunities without making him feel nagged or inadequate?

Droopy Magnolia

Dear Droopy,

Forgive me if I'm leaping to an unwarranted conclusion, but it sounds as if neither your husband nor you has actually spoken to Mr. Legree and asked for a better deal. It sounds as if you've only groused about it to each other. Maybe you should approach the man, as your husband's agent. Artists tend not to expect much in the way of financial reward; they are entrepreneurs but seldom shrewd at business, and that's where agents come in. Put away your anger entirely, and speak to the gallery owner about raising the price of the work and paying a better wage. Sometimes all you need to do is ask. If he says no, then look for better opportunities.

Dear Mr. Blue,

I am living with my boyfriend of four years but am starting to feel it's time to move on. I no longer desire him sexually and think of him more as a friend (a really, really good friend who I will probably lose). Problem is, we have a lease till next May, and no way can I afford paying half the rent plus rent for some other place that I would move into. I have no savings and a lot of debt. So do I stay living with my boyfriend, even though I feel like a fraud and he can tell something is wrong, or do I just say fuck it, move away and see where the chips may fall?

Ready To Fly

Dear Ready,

If you're old enough to live with your boyfriend and cosign a lease, then you're old enough to figure this out. The correct answer is not A or B. It is C. It means that you'll go a little deeper into debt and your really, really good friend may become simply your good friend, but it's the right thing to do.

Dear Mr. Blue,

As a child, I adored listening to my parents' classical music, pretending to be a hunchbacked fiend slouching around a moonlit graveyard during Saint-Saens' "Danse Macabre," for example, or an entire Andalucian regiment marching over North African hills to "Bolero." Then I dropped it entirely and listened to nothing but rubbish for nearly 30 years. Suddenly it's all I want to hear again. Yesterday I heard Rachmaninoff's "Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini" for the first time, and at one point there's this big, bold, proud, gorgeous theme, and I leapt to my feet, shook my fist in the air and yelled, "YEAH!" my heart pounding. I just wonder -- what on earth happened to me all those years, and what's happening to me now?

Late Romantic

Dear Late,

There is a gigantic marketing machine in America that exists to sell rubbish, rubbish being easier to produce than quality goods, and you came under the spell of the machine. Big corporations create and promote rubbish, magazines write about the new craze, it is here, it is now, it is edgy and awesome and sweeping the country, everyone is talking about it, and then when sales drop, suddenly everybody is talking about something else. And after a while, a person wearies of being sold rubbish and then the spell is broken. You got over it, that's all. You fell out of the machine's clutches and now you're going back to music that bears repeated listening, that evokes strong feelings that change over time. The difference between the Spice Girls and Chopin is that the Spice Girls will always be a souvenir of who you were when you were 8 years old and Chopin is continually new. Invest in a season ticket to see your local orchestra and enjoy your maturity.

Dear Mr. Blue,

I am a 41-year-old woman madly in love with my 39-year-old husband of eight years. We have two beautiful little boys, ages 5 and 1. Rather than glaze your eyes over by describing my husband's many sterling qualities, I'll cut right to his one quirk that drives me insane. Chronic tardiness and procrastination.

Not a week goes by in which he's not late to work at least one day; sometimes more. If he's really late, he'll call the office with one excuse or another before he goes in. He rationalizes this by saying he works hard and does a good job, so what's the big deal about being a few minutes late? Just the same, I worry his boss will get fed up and fire him. If he has an appointment, he often shows up 15 to 30 minutes late. If he has any kind of a deadline to meet, he procrastinates until the very last second, tells fibs to get extensions, then procrastinates on the extension until the very last second. Forget social occasions; if we get there before it's over, we're on time.

I've tried reasoning with him, telling him that arriving late to appointments screws up the other person's whole schedule, that he is letting people down who are counting on him. I also worry about the example this is setting for our boys. Already our 5-year-old only wants me to pick him up at school because he's afraid Daddy will be late.

My husband and I have gone round and round about this for years. He really thinks it's no problem. If it's really crucial that he be on time for something, I find myself nagging him and I hate that. I already have two little boys and I don't want to treat him like one. Any suggestions?

Exasperated

Dear Exasperated,

It's you I worry about, not your husband. He's obviously got the world by the tail if he can be so cavalier and keep a job and keep his friends. But obviously it's driving you nuts. I frankly don't think that retraining is an option here. He has probably learned how to read people and situations and figure out exactly how much slack he has. Chronic procrastination and tardiness are complex skills at your husband's level, and so don't worry about him at work: There's nothing you can do about that. The solution lies with you learning to deal with your anxiety and learning to live by two clocks, real time and husband time. The test of a first-rate mind is the ability to hold two contradictory ideas, said Fitzgerald, and this is a mental test. Don't worry about the kids, they've already learned to make allowances for Daddy. If it's important to you to be on time, arrange for yourself to go ahead on your own. Do more entertaining at home. Whatever you do, don't continue to harp on this. Make yourself stop. It's a dreadful, dreadful role, the drone, the nag, the shrew, it has no good lines, so don't accept it. Take the role of goddess of learning and love: much more satisfying.

Dear Mr. Blue,

The federal government conducted a massive study to find out something that Moses knew thousands of years ago: Children growing up without their fathers are at a serious disadvantage. One of those disadvantages is being three times more likely to be fatally abused than children in father-headed families.

By encouraging an increase in the number of children living in fatherless households, you are DIRECTLY responsible for murdering them. You may claim that you play only one-tenth of 1percent of a role, but that's no excuse for encouraging murder, is it? Maybe it takes only 1,000 like you to set the fire that destroys our social fabric.

Outraged

Dear Outraged,

I trust that you are writing to me in good conscience, knowing that you are doing your utmost to protect and provide for fatherless children. Meanwhile, how do you manage to live in America, going around being outraged at anyone who ever was divorced or accepted the idea of it?

Dear Mr. Blue,

I'm a sportswriter from Northern California, now living in a Midwestern city, and my once happy social life has hit a losing streak. There was the recent divorcie who sent me dirty e-mails after our first date and called me "Baby" on our second. There was the lanky Russian imigri turned redneck. There was the voluptuous bartender who jumped me on our first date, then blew me off when I told her I'm not that kind of boy. What's to be done? Move back West? Quit dating?

Gathering Dust

Dear Gathering,

You are hanging out in the wrong place, maybe in a sports bar with giant-screen TV and free stale popcorn with that yellow napalm topping, and so you have encountered a covey of aggressively needy women who need to throw themselves at men in order to distract them from the Bears game. Try a new location, like the Unitarian church. Not a redneck in the bunch. Unitarian women are sexy but incredibly thoughtful and sensitive and also passionate about ethics. They won't try to jump you on the first date; they'll want to know how you feel about economic justice first. They are not voluptuous because they often fast in protest of something or other, and when not fasting, they eat things made from tofu and exotic mushrooms. You will need to learn to folk dance and sit through lectures on American foreign policy by speakers from third world countries, but this is a small price to pay for happiness. If you can't find Unitarians, try Methodists. They're Unitarians trying to pass for Christian.

Dear Mr. Blue,

I'm a writer, just starting out, struggling, having a little success here and there, and I am plagued by temptations to plagiarize. I come across great stuff and think how easy it would be to just sort of rearrange it a little and use it in a story of my own. I haven't done this yet, but I think about it seriously. A friend of mine says that this sort of thing goes on all the time among writers. What do you say?

Green-Eyed

Dear Green-Eyed,

Your friend is wrong. Writers don't do this all the time. Some writers do it once or twice and then hate themselves for it and repent in tears and agonize over it for a few years. Plagiarism is a large dead bird that when it is hung around your neck, nobody wants to be around you for a while. People who plagiarize are amateurs at heart: They don't want to write, they want to have written. Yes, there are frivolous accusations, particularly directed against very wealthy songwriters and authors -- somewhere, someone has a manuscript in a suitcase that they swear John Grisham gets his plots from -- but the real thing is hard to conceal. And it's embarrassing. And if it becomes public knowledge, and eventually you become a big successful author, it will follow you all your life and be mentioned in the third paragraph of your obituary. Don't do it. If the temptation persists, stop reading good stuff and stick to trash.

Dear Mr. Blue,

I'm a 40-year-old woman who tends to idealize men (and life in general). In each of my serious relationships, I have attached deeply and quickly, given a lot, overlooked a lot, felt deliriously happy. Then when he wanted out, I was stunned, and retreated for a long stretch, years, rehashing the past, before venturing into a new romance. I've begun to feel like some half-crazed Tennessee Williams heroine.

The crux of the problem, I guess, is that I try to "earn" love instead of believing I deserve it. How can I overcome this insecurity? How do I know when I'm being a doormat? Can you help me understand the rationale behind this?

Available

Dear Available,

The rationale? I don't know. Everyone who falls in love gives a lot and overlooks a lot and is deliriously happy, and sometimes it happens quickly. And if it ends, one feels stunned. If this has happened to you more than twice, then take a break from big romances and look around for a man who makes you laugh and who is considerate and who you're comfortable being with. Don't idealize him, don't covet the future: Just enjoy his company whenever he's available. Rediscover the simple pleasures of conversation and ease and affection, and resist deep attachment. Every time you say goodnight, don't expect to see him again. Keep it light, and see what happens. No doubt you're wonderful to be with; perhaps you need to see what a simple thing love is. It's not a concept; it's a procession; it's a string of days and nights that two people put together.

Dear Mr. Blue,

I am 23, fresh out of college, close to finishing the first draft of a novel I've been writing for the past six months. I am growing increasingly nervous about getting it published. The challenge of finding an agent and publisher seems more daunting than writing the book. I spend my days on Wall Street and my nights at a word processor. I hate my high-paying job and want to get into this low-paying publishing biz. How do I make it happen?

Suit

Dear Suit,

Don't try to peek around the next three corners. Just finish the first draft, and then set it aside for a month or two, and start on the rewrite and take out the overripe stuff ("He beckoned to her insidiously and she suddenly felt hot as a toaster") and fill in the gaps in the narrative (Why did Lisa have the magical hallucinatory vision of Eric after she finished her latte? Whose Tibetan prayer scarf got left in Chad's BMW?). The rewrite is where the book takes a long leap from marvellously adequate to something the reader picks up and doesn't put down. And that's all you need to think about. Talent is unmistakeable on the page, and no agent or publisher will refuse you, once you get yourself down on paper. And if you don't get published? At least you had the experience of pushing yourself hard to reach this goal, and that's good training. And you learn about yourself in the process. And you'll never be one of those people who goes through life wondering what if he had tried. Good luck with the book. Something about your letter makes me think you're an author.

Dear Mr. Blue,

Frank is a dear, dear friend of mine. We have known each other for three years, rented rooms in the same house as students in France, dated sporadically and still remain great friends, or so I think. My problem is he never e-mails me. It's been a year since we left France, and occasionally I think of him and drop him a short line, or we meet accidently in real life. He always responds with a long, funny letter filled with anecdotes and terms of endearment and colorful metaphors about how much he misses me. So then I send him back a similar letter, and I don't hear from him again for months, until I initiate contact again. His letters are such uppers for me. I thrive on them, and save them like a schoolgirl to read later when I'm feeling down. So why isn't he writing me? I would think if he wasn't interested he'd write shorter and more boring letters. How do I get him to write more?

E-mail Girl

Dear E-mail,

Apparently you need to write two letters to get one from Frank. There probably is a reason for this. My best guess is that letter writing demands a focused effort that Frank can manage only on occasion and he has only so many letters in him to write and you're getting what he has to offer. Shakespeare only wrote those plays and no more, everyone has his limits. Frank is busy living his life and having experiences to write about in his letters. Be grateful for as many as he writes; that's all there is, g-g-g-g-g-g-girl.

Dear Mr. Blue,

For years, I have taken an annual trip to the deserts of Nevada, to take photographs and to revel in the solitude. Each year, I've asked my wife to join me, just once, to share this experience, and she has always declined the invitation, which hasn't bothered me much since, after all, solitude is one reason I love to go. This year, I finally persuaded her to join me; we leave in October. Her attitude is that this is a loathsome chore. She says she hates the desert and that I'm trying to force my taste on her, and that I should love her as she is. It bothers me that she won't take a "what the hell" attitude about this. I wouldn't mind a little good-natured grumpiness, but this genuine hostility to the idea strikes me as unkind. Should I just be glad that she's agreed to come, or am I justified in wanting a better attitude as well?

Afraid We're Drifting Apart

Dear Afraid,

The bad attitude is yours, Sahib: You leaned on this lady too hard and she caved in to pressure and now your desert idyll must bear the burden of her rightful unhappiness. You ought to let her off the hook. Set her up in a fancy hotel room in Reno, let her lounge by the pool and read good books and eat calamari and drink gin and tonics, and you go off to the desert and enjoy the rocks, the lizards, the loss of your canteen and car keys, the disorientation, the hallucinations, the mirage, the large black birds circling in the sky. Evidently, solitude wasn't revel enough for you; you craved a pupil, someone to show off your revelry and solitude to; you impressed your wife into service and she will make you pay dearly for it. Next year, you can gratefully return to the solitude. I agree with your wife. I loathe being forced to enjoy myself doing something I don't want to do. I can affect good-natured grumpiness, but down deep I honestly loathe it.

Dear Mr. Blue,

I am a designer for a low-budget, non-Equity play. I know most of the people involved and it's a beautiful piece of writing, so I agreed to do it for no pay and have financed some items personally. But now the director has decided to go against me on a design concept, the appearance of one of the actors. I strongly opposed this, and he went ahead and did it without even telling me. Ouch. So I told the producer that I want my name removed from the program. Do you think this is wrongheaded of me?

Undermined

Dear Undermined,

No, not if this one costume is that important to you. (It doesn't seem that important to me, but I'm not a designer.) Dropping your name won't change the director's mind, or the producer's, but it's a decent way to make an emphatic point about professionalism. It's not the director's difference of opinion that's the problem, of course; it's the going ahead with the change without telling you. That's rude, and professionals avoid rudeness to colleagues, and if they are rude, they need to be called on it. Your other choices are too disruptive -- to throw a fit and have a big scene, or to walk out -- and would hurt innocent persons: Removing your name from the credits is quiet and wastes nobody's time and makes the point.