What a day! After my Blue Detective debacle of a morning, I waltzed into the city and saw a curious German film—The Strange Little Cat—in a New Directors/New Films press screening at the Museum of Modern Art. Afterward, still halfway in that poker-faced comedy about the life and times of a family kitchen and its pets, I wandered through the museum’s galleries of late 19th-century art, peering over people’s shoulders at Gauguins and Van Goghs and Matisses. What a way to look at such impertinent paintings, now heralded as sacrosanct. I walked down 6th Avenue to Union Square, ogling window displays of buttons and flowers and velvet trimmings, and munching from a little wax paper bag of cashews sold by a kind-faced, doleful-voiced street vendor. As I walked, I thought about how New York is like the kitchen I’d just watched: always changing, always staying the same. I thought about about how, as much as I like Brooklyn, Manhattan’s street smells—hamburgers and onions, hot dogs, pretzels, smoky and sweet nuts, quick gusts of trash and fancy flowers—trump all. And I thought about how alley cats like me—ladies of a certain age, ladies of a certain indestructibility, ladies of a certain scandalous independence—have been clicking in high heels down the city’s avenues for hundreds of years. I hope we always will.
I went to town today in this HuffPost Live video chat about age-related gender wage gaps for actresses. We were responding to a recent study reporting that female actors lose their Hollywood earning power at age 34 while male actors experience their pay decline at age 52. Not only did I get to retell Tina Fey and Amy Poehler’s great Golden Globes joke—Meryl Streep was brilliant in “August: Osage County,” proving there are still great roles in Hollywood for Meryl Streeps over 60— but we also got saucy at the expense of Ole Dead Eyes, Kristen Stewart. Bonus: doing these video sessions from home means I never have to change out of my sweatpants.
Now that my co-creator and I have completed the onerous tasks of le apartment rehab—sanding, plastering, painting, sawing—we’re onto the details. Where, you know, g-d lies. This morning I rewired a lamp myself by following a YouTube tutorial, cleaned out a dusty 1920s filing cabinet by googling “remove and clean shelves” and, using lemon rind and baking soda, degreased my grandmother’s 1940s Fiestaware–as recommended on a cleaning website. The Internet has legitimized its existence. Today.