In prior years I would wear my film critic hat or my intuitive hat but never did the twain meet (not unless I was making Academy Award predictions; oh, the Oscar pools I’ve won). In this Brave New World, though, I feel it necessary to integrate my various entities. So I had great fun appearing on Deep Night, the podcast by comedian Dale Seever. We talked about magic and medicine of all varietals, including the 2017 Oscars, bald eagles, spirit guides, Mother Mary, and such films as All That Jazz, In the Mood for Love, and The Wiz. That Dale is quite a rascal; take a listen.
I saw “The Lady Eve” at Metrograph; I wore fur and red lipstick with zero compunction; I ate oysters and duck; I drank champagne cocktails and big red wine; I walked miles and miles with a kindred spirit in the shadow of the Empire State Building’s red-harlot lights. I heckled men walking down the street carrying red roses–“Are those for meeee?”–and sniffed at a swain who tried to pick me up at the mail box. “You post things? How elegant!” “Oh, take your Valentine goggles off!” Most of all, I smiled at everyone who smiled at me, and batted my lashes lasciviously at the rude boys on the subway. This year’s V Day had a different vibe–less materialistic, more conspiratorial. It suited this love witch just fine.
When I get trolled by a Tr*mp zombie–which is often, as I’m politically outspoken on social media and on TV–I write a blistering response. But I know all too* well that it’s not only unwise but unsafe to expend precious resistance energy on this Agent Orange-infected, poorly articulated hatred. So I breathe deeply, delete the response before posting it, and send love to that person’s highest self. Lately this is not just a daily practice these days. It is an hourly one. Ameriker.
*note correct spelling.
In prior years I would wear my film critic hat or my intuitive hat but never did the twain meet (not unless I was making Academy Award predictions; oh, the Oscar pools I’ve won). In this Brave New World, though, I feel it necessary to integrate my various entities. So I had great fun appearing on Deep Night, the podcast by comedian Dale Seever. We talked about magic and medicine of all varietals, including the 2017 Oscars, bald eagles, spirit guides, Mother Mary, and such films as All That Jazz, In the Mood for Love, and The Wiz. That Dale is quite a rascal; take a listen.
I saw “The Lady Eve” at Metrograph; I wore fur and red lipstick with zero compunction; I ate oysters and duck; I drank champagne cocktails and big red wine; I walked miles and miles with a kindred spirit in the shadow of the Empire State Building’s red-harlot lights. I heckled men walking down the street carrying red roses–“Are those for meeee?”–and sniffed at a swain who tried to pick me up at the mail box. “You post things? How elegant!” “Oh, take your Valentine goggles off!” Most of all, I smiled at everyone who smiled at me, and batted my lashes lasciviously at the rude boys on the subway. This year’s V Day had a different vibe–less materialistic, more conspiratorial. It suited this love witch just fine.
When I get trolled by a Tr*mp zombie–which is often, as I’m politically outspoken on social media and on TV–I write a blistering response. But I know all too* well that it’s not only unwise but unsafe to expend precious resistance energy on this Agent Orange-infected, poorly articulated hatred. So I breathe deeply, delete the response before posting it, and send love to that person’s highest self. Lately this is not just a daily practice these days. It is an hourly one. Ameriker.