Archive | Essays

Oy, Christmas Tree

I’m still sick and it’s maddening. I’m aware that whining about a holiday malaise betrays my Ninth Rule of Order but I waited a full day before announcing my frustration, and rationalize that this post may grant someone the comfort of solidarity.

I ducked out this morning to do errands and grossed everyone out the minute I heaved my sorry ass onto the sidewalk. I came home to realize even permakitten Grace was put off by her roommate, which, on general principle, annoyed me: I clean her shit, for heaven’s sake. I may be on the mend but am stuck in that deeply irritating stage in which you feel better but sound and look far, far worse. With my rattling cough and mucus-laden speech, I am 2016’s Typhoid Mary, and am super not into it. Send Calgon and comics from where ever you are. Kisses if you can spare them.

In other news, I hated my Christmas tree this year. It had charm, don’t get me wrong. Stubby and lumpy, it was a real Charlie Brownstone, and the price was on point. I almost bought it from the corner deli on the way home from Christmas Eve services but the dudes were still asking 45 clams, so I waited until that 70-degree Christmas morning, when they agreed to deliver it up to my third-floor walk-up for twenty bucks. They even threw in the stand for free. Continue Reading →

My Blood, My Holy Wine

I rallied last night. I’d been sick all week but wasn’t about to waste an opportunity to see the Alvin Ailey Company perform. It was probably ill-advised–now I’m sicker than before and I was feverish and hacking phlegm even when getting ready–but the ticket was a Christmas present to myself and my spirits needed lifting. So I bundled up in a fur hat and a big white scarf and sweeping black coat. I lined my eyes with kohl, painted my nails with glitter, pig-tailed my platinum hair with bits of leather, and put on statement earrings and the high-heeled boots that are bad for my back but good for showing off my legs. Then I shimmied out the door.

On the subway, people kept staring and I couldn’t tell if it was because I looked gorgeous or like a crazy lady. I hoped for Option A; knew it was Option B.

At the City Center, I was seated next to a handsome couple who’d been together for a while and still dug each other’s company. I knew this because they were enjoying their conversation but felt generous enough to engage me, and because they wore complementary colors. It is my observation that couple who choose complementary colors not only share energy frequencies but tend to dress together, which means they still seek opportunities to see each other naked. All in all, I found their presence bittersweet. Continue Reading →

The Beautiful Bowl Is Empty

It happens every year. I guess I thought this one would be different because I’ve worked so hard that maybe I’d just be grateful for the time off. But the minute I wrapped my assignment and walked out of the NY1 studios today—into the cold rain, admittedly—I felt a rush of sadness that I almost never feel except around what we called Christmas break when I was growing up. That feeling when school let out and I would know I was off the grid, unaccounted for and unsought, until the new year. I look forward to that quiet freedom as an adult–count down the days, even. And then when it arrives I feel an overwhelming loneliness. It’s the downside of living in the interstices of everything, even though that’s how I usually like it. It’s a sense of not belonging to anyone but myself—which, again, is something I usually embrace.

This is the only time of year when I wonder if I’m just making lemonade out of really rotten lemons.

Last year I didn’t feel my feelings until I attended a Christmas Eve service at the East Village’s beautiful-hearted Middle Church. There was something about the kind eyes foisted upon me as we passed the flame in the candle-lighting service that did me in. That’s bullshit, actually. From the minute the preacher began her sermon, from the minute we began singing “Silent Night” as a congregation, from the minute that someone recognized me and I felt ashamed about being alone, I was bawling. They weren’t bad tears, mind you. Actually, I think all tears are good tears. It’s useful to feel the sorrow we’re taught to ignore in our culture; otherwise, it leeches into our systems in ways that serves no one. Continue Reading →

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