As Joshua’s words come echoing across the water and down the years to me, I can’t help thinking that his life was not just his finest thoughts about poetry and friendship, expressed in a style that rejected forcefulness in favor of sympathy, but it was also comprised of his long mornings in his dressing gown with his telephone, newspapers, the Hu Kwa smoked tea and the little sterling-silver strainer that sat in its drip cup when it wasn’t straddled across a cup catching leaves. His life was made up of his pleasure in the morning glories as well as his hilarity ….After [his death] I looked through all the letters I’d ever received from Joshua and I realized I’d been unworthy of him then, that he’d been sending them through time to me as I would become years later. –Edmund White, The Farewell SymphonyContinue Reading →
What with the heavens exploding all around us, New Yorkers have gone rather batty over the last few days. It used to be such battiness was business as usual, but as rents have steadily increased, so have the rates of NYC normalcy. Though it’s rarely acknowledged, New Yorkers have become some of the nation’s biggest conformists since the “Friends”-style gentrification began with the Rudy Giuliani Reign of Terror. Every generation of NY mourns the one that preceded them, of course, but I think I am right in preferring the Lady Bunnies of Alphabet City over the assless chaps who now preside over Nouveau Brooklyn. Continue Reading →
On Friday, my dear childhood friend Ana and I met up for the first time in years so we could mourn Prince together in person. Spike Lee held a massive Fort Greene block party in his honor. Questlove took over Brooklyn Bowl in a shower of purple love. Bruce Springsteen sang “Purple Rain” in Brooklyn. And at this morning’s Sunday Fairway ritual, my butcher and produce and cheese and deli pals and I talked only of the Purple One instead of our normal pets and peeves. It’s been nonstop communal grieving with everyone I love publicly and personally. Continue Reading →
As Joshua’s words come echoing across the water and down the years to me, I can’t help thinking that his life was not just his finest thoughts about poetry and friendship, expressed in a style that rejected forcefulness in favor of sympathy, but it was also comprised of his long mornings in his dressing gown with his telephone, newspapers, the Hu Kwa smoked tea and the little sterling-silver strainer that sat in its drip cup when it wasn’t straddled across a cup catching leaves. His life was made up of his pleasure in the morning glories as well as his hilarity ….After [his death] I looked through all the letters I’d ever received from Joshua and I realized I’d been unworthy of him then, that he’d been sending them through time to me as I would become years later. –Edmund White, The Farewell Symphony Continue Reading →
What with the heavens exploding all around us, New Yorkers have gone rather batty over the last few days. It used to be such battiness was business as usual, but as rents have steadily increased, so have the rates of NYC normalcy. Though it’s rarely acknowledged, New Yorkers have become some of the nation’s biggest conformists since the “Friends”-style gentrification began with the Rudy Giuliani Reign of Terror. Every generation of NY mourns the one that preceded them, of course, but I think I am right in preferring the Lady Bunnies of Alphabet City over the assless chaps who now preside over Nouveau Brooklyn. Continue Reading →
On Friday, my dear childhood friend Ana and I met up for the first time in years so we could mourn Prince together in person. Spike Lee held a massive Fort Greene block party in his honor. Questlove took over Brooklyn Bowl in a shower of purple love. Bruce Springsteen sang “Purple Rain” in Brooklyn. And at this morning’s Sunday Fairway ritual, my butcher and produce and cheese and deli pals and I talked only of the Purple One instead of our normal pets and peeves. It’s been nonstop communal grieving with everyone I love publicly and personally. Continue Reading →