Fetching your coffee in Williamsburg at 7am on a Sunday morning means you witness a lot of walks of shame. This morning I got caught behind a couple blocking the sidewalk as they ambled to the subway. He was trying, subtly subtly, to hurry them along but she was so lit up in a reverie of Sunday-morning-new-love-this-is-how-it’s-supposed-to-be that she didn’t pick up his cues. When they got to the stop she reached up expectantly, head tilted back and lips slightly parted for a big Hollywood goodbye kiss, but he merely pecked her cheek and patted her back while conspicuously removing his pelvis from the picture. Just like that her face fell, shoulders crumpling as she descended the stairs to the subway, and I shuddered, thinking of the awful self-loathing to which she was also about to descend. I could see the whole thing just from that moment: They’d met online, gone on two dates he’d considered more mediocre than she had, and they’d slept together the night before because of his idle desire to get laid and her powerful need for connection. The guy and I stood together at the corner, waiting for the traffic light to change, and I could feel the relief radiating from him like UV rays. Involuntarily I snorted. It was more of an audible exhale, really, but I confess I’d forgotten anyone could hear or see me since I consider myself invisible when I’m in Harriet the Spy mode. (It’s amazing how often I meet people who’ve never noticed me though I’ve watched them many times.) Suddenly he looked straight at me with the most searing mix of defensiveness and fury, and I–overcompensator that I sometimes can be–smiled evilly right back. The light changed, he rushed away, and I apologetically sent them both a silent burst of peony compassion. O, Sunday morning. Jesus, indeed.
Archive | Snapshot
La Dolce Primavera (Our Fellini Spring)
May 11, 2013 in City Matters, Film Matters, Snapshot, Weather Matters
In my adult life I truly don’t remember such a lovely—or well-earned—spring as the one we’re having. For years New York City has gone from brutally cold to brutally hot with nary a window of mild weather. But we’ve enjoyed nearly a month of it already after our treacherously long winter: the rain is big and headstrong and creatively inspiring; the sun makes a French movie out of a trip to the corner deli. And the thrilling, still-temperate nights render us all a big Fellini blonde splashing in a fountain. Officially I am pleased. Unofficially I am ecstatic.
An Homage to the All-Powerful Lipstick
December 4, 2012 in Snapshot, Style Matters
Here is why I always buy a lipstick when I am in the throes of a serious case of the Mean Reds: Because no matter how broke I am, the highest of high-end lipsticks will prove (vaguely) affordable; because no matter how shabby I’m looking, a lipstick will jazz the joint up; because no matter how vulnerable I’m feeling, a new lipstick will arm me with at least one significant weapon of glamour. Today, it was Dior’s Serum de Rouge in Prune (pictured here on my Mean Red self). J’adore its healing powers.
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