Archive | Snapshot

Kitchen Witch (Stay-at-Home Automom)

I could pretend what’s pictured here is a kitchen sink salad but it’s more of a garbage pail salad. Meaning I have all kinds of motley ingredients in my fridge and I work at home and hate to throw out food. So this contains chopped blue cheese and pickles and capacollo and kale and asparagus and even a bit of chive and parsley and o shit mint. it’s fine—actually it’s pretty good, salty and fresh and filling and a little oooomami—but i’d never inflict it on anyone else.

Instead I made it after rising at 5 am to revise yesterday’s book pages and then write the film lecture I’m delivering later today out on Long Island. Before editing said lecture, I worked out in the gym recently installed in our basement while doing laundry in our building’s new washer and dryer. (Anything to seduce Williamsburg tenants during 15 months of a modified L Train.) I felt so glamorous doing all this in my own building, on my own time. Herein lies the strange beauty of living and working alone–a spiky, highly singular economy within which I feel most myself. I’m even more grateful for it lately because your support showed me how not-alone I really am. (PS I’m back in book, finally.)

A Tourist in My Own Town

Central Perky

One of the many, many things I love about NYC is that when one neighborhood proves wearying (Williamsburg houses far too many of my exes), you can dip into a whole new world just by traveling a few miles. This holiday season I have been a tourist in my own city and have found real December magic, even when the adventures have left something to be desired.

Last Sunday I traveled to an unusually demure Midtown to ogle the big-hearted precision of the Alvin Ailey dancers at the New York City Center. Continue Reading →

The Mirrors Are Walls

In some selfies–a lot of them; mine, too–I see this hunger. I don’t see self-confidence and I don’t see arrogance, or, rather, arrogance is a subsidiary, a weak little land-staking, a bleat in a black hole. At heart, it’s fear: “Am I here? Do you really see me? Will I land somewhere safe this time if I remind you that my visage earns its keep? Can this glimpse of my face–my beautiful, hurt, craning face– remind you that I am someone worthy of keeping in your mind’s eye in other moments of the day as well?” What I really see in selfies is this: “Please, God, please. Don’t let me disappear without a trace.” If only we could really feel it, really grasp the truth: We are all, each of us, beloved children of the universe.

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