Archive | City Matters
Packing up to head back to New York City this morning from Northern Massachusetts, where I’ve been perched for the last while–researching, reading, witching, listening. I love my chosen home, I really do, but today I feel so sad about hurtling back into the hustle-bustle of cement, of chatter, of Primary, of what Lou Reed once described as “Oh, oh, my, and who really cares.” April weather is blowing up everywhere, and I’m hoping that upon my arrival I’ll gladly step back into that parade, even slather on some lipstick again. But in the early hours of today, I just feel blue about surrendering the voluptuous quiet, the unadulterated green and yellow of spring outside a city. Someday, I hope, I’ll be such an evolved being that I can carry that within me wherever I go. Today I just wish for one more day to drink my coffee in the sun of an empty field.The Church of Liser the Tailor
The longer these primaries drag on–the longer everyone soap-boxes and no one listens–the more I find myself hiding from social media and, gasp, reading paper books and writing in paper notebooks. These days, that qualifies as “going off the grid,” which I find hilarious given that only a decade ago going off the grid entailed living off the land, modern amenity-free, and growing a very big beard, regardless of your gender. This is also hilarious given that Brooklyn is now crowded with the facial-hair equivalents of Unabombers, Paul Bunyans, and Motel the Tailors. (A glimpse into various ancestry; what ho!) What’s most hilarious: Apparently I am channeling the spirit of Andy Rooney.
Gauchos Make the Heart Grow Gladder
Yesterday I read something that described this run of weather we’ve been having in New York as “sprintertime.” It’s an inelegant phrase but accurate just the same: Cold rains, colder winds, and then bright, emotionally distant sunshine. If it suits me fine just now it’s because I’m in the midst of a run of work that’s equally inhospitable. Add in taxes and death–so predictable!–and I’ve become a dreary Dora.
What’s kept me going besides my permakitten joyously galloping around the apartment (she adores these big breezes) is what’s kept me going for an embarrassing swath of my life: the promise of fashion. As a person who works and lives alone and has been trying in recent years to date fewer fuckwits, I do not have as many opportunities for gorgeous dresses as I once did. Most days I wear a caftan until I have to duck out for supplies or a screening. But I study clothes the way my friends with gardens study seed catalogues. Wearable art, candy for the body, uniforms for other, more glamorous lives: As an admirer of beauty not to mention spies, I’ve been fascinated by fashion my whole life. Continue Reading →