My girlfriend, from the early 70s, and I were dilettantes. The Scientology mind cult labeled off purpose fuck heads like us, "dilettantes." We wore the badge with honor.
We shared one another's houses, and often worked into the middle of the night wallpapering or painting. Clothing was generally optional.
We'd awake in the morning, and continue our lovemaking from the night before.
We had hooked up as a result of twinning on the academy levels. Between driving to and from the City or Berkeley, we fell in love within a week. Her father had been press secretary to FDR. My dad was a farmer. She was blue blood, I was hayseed farm boy. She taught me Latin and Greek. I turned her on to Kurt Vonnegut. We both devoured Agatha Christie, rock and roll, and each other.
One day we were on an academy level at the Berkeley org. Bob D'Asto, a new Flag Trained Course Sup took over the academy from Jim Darcy. We didn't like him. He was a petty martinet. At lunch we mingled with all the other students. We pointed out to each of our fellow students that course sups live and die on stats. After lunch, my girlfriend and I noticed a particularly sharp drop in our personal student points for the day. Many, if not all, of our fellow students experienced the same precipitous drop. Two days later, everybody on course was getting meter checked. Our Needles were Floating.
The problem couldn't be us. Within another day, the guy was kicked upstairs, and our old course sup was back. We quickly finished and moved on.
If we weren't on course, we were auditing. I've heard the Golden Age of Tech has improved this by using Professor Harold Hill's "think method," but in the early 70s, we learned by doing. This probably seems odd to those of you, who followed in our tracks. A PC, who I gave her very first sessions to, was 12 back then. Forty years later she has kids going to college, and is our mortgage broker. We tend to stay connected.
At night, when we should have been on course, we would go to the flickers. Sometimes we'd see more than one movie in a night. We would pull friends off course to go with us.
On Thursday nights we'd be watching Flip Wilson on the tele.
Most often we'd stay up late making out on the couch while watching old movies with Bogey,
Hepburn, Cagney, and of course, commercials.
Weekends -- there were parties, dozens of naked people crowding into the Gerbodes' redwood hot tub, barbeques at the Spicklers', Sunday Sermons with entertainment flown up from CC -The Great American Entertainment Show, Heber, many talented acts. Hundreds of people every Sunday coming to play, be entertained and enlightened. Speakers would be Alan Kapular, Yvonne, Phil Spickler, Bob Harvey, John McMaster -- all lively speakers.
When we wanted to get away, we'd go south to Carmel and Big Sur. One night we were camping on one of my favorite beaches, Garrapata Beach, and in the middle of the night we were awoken by other campers screaming. They had set their sleeping bags on a flea nest. They were being eaten alive. Later, I found out that Garrapata means wood tick.
One fall we took the olives off her tree and cured them.
Our breakfasts were coffee and eggs, often poached and runny on whole wheat toast (so delicious) or with corned beef hash and ketchup.
Dinners at my house were barbeque steak or burgers. Dinners at her house boeuf bouguignon. If we ate out, it was at the Fish Market or the Wine Cellar or at any little place in the City.
Oft times we would have martinis (martinis were the official drink of Franklin Delano Roosevelt), it went with the territory.
I remember one Sunday afternoon being three sheets to the wind, and remembering I had a session to give across the Bay Bridge. It came off without a hitch. The PC, as far as I know, never realized how drunk I was.
In essence, while you were on purpose meshing with the Co$ system, we were at the opening of "The Way We Were" or "Harold and Maude" or "McCabe and Mrs. Miller" or auditing paying PCs, screaming through academy and bc courses, Oat Tea levels, going to parties, staying up late, fixing each others' houses, gardening, cooking, and generally fucking our brains out.
(notes to self) 
Self, POUND THOSE KEYS! 
String Beans BBC show tape from the late '60's is timeless...everness.
