Last Thursday night, my husband and I went to a party that Esquire Magazine* hosted at a 23.5 million dollar apartment. The apartment, known as the ClockTower Penthouse, is a triplex in DUMBO, Brooklyn, and is the most expensive piece of real estate in the borough. The main floor features four enormous working glass clock… Read more »
Nearing the 1964 Christmas break during my fifth grade, thirteen inches of snow blanketed my street late on a Thursday evening. Losing a school day to the elements was a beautiful thing. Friday morning, my friends and I mushed over to Central Park towing our sleds through the middle of the street. Milking the day… Read more »
Good grief, how did we ever survive planes without cell phones, smart phones, tablets, and laptops? People need to learn to disconnect when they step on board. In case you missed it, today’s big brouhaha is over did whether or not actor Alec Baldwin turned his phone off soon enough to meet with the flight attendant’s… Read more »
Why am I awake? This question poses itself as my body lays in a comfortable position on the first available secluded space I found on the Oranjestad portion of Aruba’s west coast. The sand beneath me contours to nestle, hold and support my body. The warmth of my billions-grain fine quartz mattress speckled with broken… Read more »
Sheep Meadow was quiet on the first of December and stunning. A couple made a reservation for the whole place. I felt like an intruder and walked wide around them but snuck behind for two photos. On the very bottom are two pictures of one particular tree, from yesterday, and from last year in blossom. Walking… Read more »
There are some plays that, no matter how many different versions I’ve seen over the years, I will continue to seek out simply because the writing is so extraordinary. A Streetcar Named Desire comes to mind. Then there are plays that, although they are very good—masterpieces even—I feel no pressing need to ever see again. … Read more »
6:43 PM, Thanksgiving Day Carrie’s cell phone rings. It’s Miranda. Carrie picks up. Carrie: Is this the annual I’m-in-hell call? Miranda: I’m in hell. Are you in hell? Please tell me you’re in hell. Carrie: Well…. Miranda: Carrie, Steve is leading my entire family in a Piano Man sing-along. Please don’t let me… Read more »
. This is the afternoon of Thanksgiving Day in 1961. It takes place in Yorkville, Manhattan. The action picks up where my last column’s action left off. Around one, we got back to my father’s family’s apartment for Thanksgiving dinner. Dad’s Mom, and Step-Dad, John Rode, Nan and Pop Cuckoo to me, always cooked our bird. Mom’s… Read more »
Until a few months ago I had not recalled the last instance when I felt afraid, deep fear. It happened suddenly, impressively, unmistakably, indelibly after I dropped my clothes and dipped my whole self into the pond on a friend’s Catskill Mountain estate. My eyes opened underneath the water’s surface, below a sky and above… Read more »
Thanksgiving morning, 1961, Mom woke me quietly and whispered, “Rory is sick. If you wake him up before you leave, you’re not going either.” I shook my head yes. I felt bad that my younger brother, Rory, wouldn’t see the parade, but I was happy to go with Dad alone. It was much easier having… Read more »
