Archive | Age Matters

The Church of Grown Ups

The older I get, the less interested I am in spending time with people who haven’t weathered serious failure or loss or opposition yet. Choosing to navigate hardship with certitude, with grace, with open eyes and open heart is not only what introduces us to true adulthood but to our best selves. And selfish as I am, people’s best selves are the ones I want to know. As Benjamin Franklin, of whom I’m ridiculously fond, said: “You will know failure. Continue to reach out.” As an unnamed beau, of whom I was once ridiculously fond, said: “It’s all part of growing up.”

The Unfashionable Charms of ‘Fading Gigolo’

Fading Gigolo, John Turturro’s fifth directorial effort, is a wonderful film. It also is what my mother used to call “not everyone’s cup of tea.” About part-time florist Fioravante (Turturro) who becomes a Don Juan-for-hire to solve his financial woes, it is unfashionable in some key ways: wry rather than snarky, tender-hearted rather than glib. It takes place in the multicultural neighborhoods of old-school Brooklyn rather than in the hipster playground now earmarked as the New York City borough, and it features men and women, often in compromisingly graphic positions, who are over 40. Perhaps most unfashionably, it co-stars Woody Allen in his first artistic effort since the controversies about his personal life resurfaced, as well as in one of his first appearances in a film that he did not direct and write. Continue Reading →

Communion Waifer

I guess I’ve hit my fill of something, whether it’s the manic pixie paradigm or the malingering winter I’m not sure, but this broad has had it. Coming up from the subway platform at 14th street and 8th Avenue, we were all held up by a 20something waif decked out in gold slippers, a puff of fake white fur, and a tiny blond haircut who was leafing through a children’s library book as she glacially tiptoed up the stairs. She was so caught in a reverie of herself that she didn’t hear everyone’s “excuse me, excuse me” as they attempted to pass her. Finally, I tapped her on the shoulder: “You ain’t that cute, honey,” I said. “Get cracking.” Her face contorted. “F–k you,” she spat out. “That ain’t cute either,” said another lady my age, climbing by her.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy