New York City is a gigantic experiment. An island of stimuli and learned responses, one of which involves my ankles. It doesn’t matter what is moving near them. A balled-up newspaper. Or dried leaves. Or crumpled foil wrappers. Or torn caution tape. Or Chinese takeout menus. Or tear-away strips from a Man with a Van flyer. Or the plastic dollhouse tables they put on pizzas to keep the toppings from sticking to the lids. My reaction is always the same. I shout garbled profanities, leap backwards and run, run, run! …
It’s Halloween and I’m on the F train, dressed as Ziggy Stardust. A woman plants her phone inches from my face, the flash firing before I can protest. Her pupils are dilated and she’s dripping with mismatched tote bags, like an adjunct without an office. She speaks as if we’re mid-conversation:
“It took them five months, but they found it. The cancer. Sloan Kettering kept telling me it wasn’t there, but I insisted it was. Look at all the people here. I’m the most beautiful one. Can you believe I’m the one who gets cancer?”
The woman is a manifestation…
“Where were you when you found out Biden had won?”
I was drinking coffee in my apartment, watching The Great British Bake Off.
I was wearing an XXL t-shirt advertising Brooklyn Brewery’s Defender IPA (a limited edition beer made for Comic-Con) and Christmas pajama pants.
I was confused. I heard my neighbors cheering, but it wasn’t 7 PM, the time when everyone “claps because they care” for essential workers. I looked out my window and saw a jogger. Maybe today is the virtual NY Half Marathon?
I was frantic. I wrenched pots and pans from my cabinets, weighed them in…
Cuffing Season has come to a close, but Coronavirus Season is just getting started. Similar to Cuffing Season, Coronavirus Season is a period of time where people are quick to jump into relationships. Why? The forecast is depressing, serial dating is too germy, and the only sanitary place to hang out is indoors. So, if you’re single, abandon your standards, commit to the nearest healthy body and try these tips:
I saw a white lady standin’ on the street just sobbin’
And I think about it once a week
It was two years ago
Christmas time, foot of snow
Passing through Union Square
And I saw this crying white lady just kinda standin’ there.
I’m the white lady who has been spotted sobbing about town. It’s unlikely a kid has spiraled into an existential daydream while watching me, but I have gotten a few sympathetic looks, from time to time.
I’m at a festival in Allihies, Ireland. To the left of us are houses painted gumball pink, blue, yellow and green. To the right is a crumbling wall and endless sea. People spill out from steamy pubs onto the street, forming a semicircle around musicians playing classic Irish ballads like “Stairway to Heaven” and “Hey Jude.” Whenever a lone car appears, the crowd parts down the middle to let it through, cheerfully banging on the hood and shouting slurry greetings. During one of these vehicular interludes, I elbow a bald guy standing next to me. …
Dani and I have just checked into our resort in Mexico — a place advertised as “an oasis where everything is taken care of.” It sounds perfect. But, the vibe already feels…off. As we trail the bellhop carrying our bags, we observe other guests: pairs dressed in matching linen outfits, canoodling under the flickering shade of palm trees. Opening the door to our suite, we’re greeted by the sight of a massive king-sized bed, artfully strewn with rose petals. Chocolates, along with a couple’s massage coupon, are on the nightstand.
Periods are really en vogue right now. There’s chic, absorbent underwear you bleed all over on purpose! Fancy subscription services that deliver 100% organic tampons to your front porch! Sleek phone apps that track your cycle via colorful flowcharts! It’s as if menstruation is the new It Girl and we’ve filled her dressing room floor-to-ceiling with elaborate tokens of our affection. Those with cycles are part of her posse. So, by association, women are having a moment too. Though I’d love to simply bask in the glow of my lady parts’ newfound fame, one thing cannot be denied: periods are…
Normally, I don’t fall hard for fashion trends, but this summer’s proliferation of maxis influenced by low-key California Cool has produced a slew of beachy, shapeless dresses I’m ready to share my life with. Some might call them muumuus. I have chosen to lovingly refer to them as Summer Sacks.
I encountered my first Summer Sack at a Parisian store near my office. Prior attempts to shop at this store had left me depressed. Practically every skirt and dress they sell has a dropped waist — a silhouette that bunches around my thighs, making my torso look like an unrolled…