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A few weeks ago, I finally made it to David Bowie Is, at the Brooklyn Museum (the first time I tried to go, the Saturday after it opened, there was a five! hour! wait! (not ideal when you’re carting around a baby)). The exhibit is a full-stop audio-visual spectacle, part documentary, part concert, part bohemian
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I love Man Repeller‘s monthly Writers Club prompts — they’re a good exercise even when I don’t come up with anything worth sending in. Last month’s was a fan letter; I addressed mine to Shirley Jackson (whose ability to write in her head continues to amaze and inspire me). Dear Shirley Jackson, I first read the
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[Writing love letters to my city is, it turns out, both fun and therapeutic. The first three are here; I’ll try to keep ’em coming!] It doesn’t sound particularly nice, does it: “Eastern Parkway.” Sounds like it would be wide and drab and dreary, colorless and featureless. But oh, the part of it that swings
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When I was eight or nine and at the height of my Felicity Doll-catalyzed colonial America obsession, one of the books I read often was The Winter of the Red Snow. It was one of the Dear America books, those faux diaries that offered a child’s view on an important moment in American history. In
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This past Friday, while walking through Cobble Hill, I watched kids in twos and fours and ones and sixes fizzing over with weekend, with bodega soda, with croissants and single baca di dama from the new espresso place whose vapors their mothers like to inhale appreciatively, decisively, this is like Milan / I remember when…,
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Listen, if spring’s not well and truly arriving in the upper mid-Atlantic, her simulacra is pretty darn convincing. Normally, I’m a stickler for seasons starting and stopping when they ought to (said primly, like an old schoolmarm), but now that I’ve got a wee baldie in my care, I say to heck with the Gregorians,
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I found out I was pregnant the day I got back from Portugal. As a result, the trip holds a special sort of poignancy, fine and silken and sun-bleached. While my pregnancy was its own sort of slow, that vacation was the last times in my life I was ever truly languid. It was also
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Some people think that college should happen later, when brains are less flighty and more able to bear the weight of their owners’ futures. I don’t know about that — the put-off-college people end to belong to the same camp as the “everyone should major in STEM fields” people — but I do know that
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New York is a funny town. It’s not ineffable — but it is both whatever adjective is put to it and the opposite of that adjective, sometimes simultaneously. The streets can be dirty but the parks are clean. Midtown is one neon high-rise after the other, but nearby ‘hoods are full of genteel brownstones and
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I’m not in the habit of doling out maternity advice (for exhibit a, look no further than this lengthy validation of my desire to eat poke bowls whilst pregnant), but here’s a piece: now is not the time to get a dog. I didn’t get a dog, but I have two. One is an angel
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