My Uncle Jack and Aunt Anna were having marital problems in the early 1940s. Their fighting hit a new high in their East Harlem neighborhood when Aunt Anna found half her house money missing from the flour tin. She chased Uncle Jack with a ladle full of dog crap up First Avenue to the entrance of the 138th Street Bridge. Jack ran into… Read more »
My first coffin was metal. It measured six feet long, three feet wide, and three feet deep. It rested on a wood base that lifted its height up by one foot. It sat in near darkness at the rear of the parlor. Everyone paid their respects. Upon close examination, you saw it bled sweat and… 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 »
Mary Bly is a tenured professor of English Literature at Fordham University with a bachelor’s degree from Harvard, a master’s from Oxford, and a PhD from Yale. According to her Fordham faculty page, her current project, The Geography of Puns: London’s Bawdy Whores, addresses “the geographical and linguistic economies of early modern London.” She serves as… Read more »
As most readers know, I am not from New York. I am from Belfast, Maine where, as you can imagine, the taxi culture is limited. If you peruse the Yellow Pages, you will find a few taxi companies that service Waldo County, but the companies are usually just folks with a spare station wagon looking… Read more »
We left off last week with me and Sarah Jessica Parker alone in an elevator, her a guest at an awards ceremony honoring Cynthia Nixon, and me a volunteer working the event. She had just told me that she loved my outfit, which included an oversized flower pin à la Carrie Bradshaw. The year was 2006…. Read more »
“Tommy, get my bag,” My grandmother barked. It was February 1965, I was 11. ‘Oh, Christ,’ I thought. Slowly, I made my way through the railroad flat looking for Nan’s pocketbook. The gang box weighed more than my little brother, and when I heaved the thing up, I imagined Nan in the audience on… Read more »
Feel like getting in the mood for Halloween? Growing up in Manhattan, I took every opportunity I could to scare myself. I loved being spooked. I ate up every horror movie as a kid and listened to countless tall tales and read every ghost story on the planet. After all these years, there is only… Read more »
When you’re a tour guide in a city like New York, you often have to supplement your income with other jobs in order to pay the bills. As regular readers of “Almost Carrie” know, my primary job requires me to follow in the footsteps of Miss Bradshaw. What readers may not know however, is that my… Read more »
Can you be in love with a city—real, complex, complicated love? Absofuckinglutely. Can you be irritated, frustrated, and pissed with said city? Posifuckingtively. After posting last week’s ode to New York, I read a refreshing, candid article in W magazine (I know—it’s the last place I’d expect to find anything refreshing and candid either) by… Read more »
