You’ve Solved a Puzzle
Three things haven’t changed in the DT era: The sunrise is still beautiful. My permakitten is still sweet. I still do a little jig to the “Congratulations” theme song played upon completion of the online New York Times crossword. But our Constitution is going out the window, white supremacy is on the rise, the Standing Rock protectors are under siege, and the United States of America is being overrun by a reality TV oligarch. I got no spin, because spin is what we no longer can afford. So good morning. I use the term loosely.
New World Balance
I have been such a whirling dervish since T Day, as I now dourly regard November 11, that I scarcely remember my own name. I’ve said yes to every invitation: gone to parties, theater, talks, protests; joined with others in prayer, laughter, dance, resistance, tears. I’ve told myself: This is not the time to stay cozy with Grace and a cauldron on the stove. This is the time to rally with the troops. There’s no one right way to grapple with this new reality, though I disapprove of mindless entertainment since we Netflix-binged ourselves into this regime. My way has been to open my heart. Continue Reading →
Mikey and Paulie
This is Mike and Paul. I met them a decade ago, when Oslo, the first really great coffee shop in Williamsburg, opened down on Roebling Avenue. By 9 am that joint was jumping—still is, even with the many artisanal-almond-milk-interplanetary-bean-drips that have opened in the years since. But at 7 am, we were often the only ones hunkered down over our coffees. Paul drank a latte, Mike drank a regular brew with one of those sugary cakes masquerading as a muffin, and I drank an Americano. On the days I’d woken up enough to apply lipstick before leaving the house, the men made a big show of buying my drink for me. “I love a blonde with red lips,” Paul would say with his irresistible grin. I’d bat my lashes. Continue Reading →