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 »
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 »
Like my fathers’ mother, like my father, I love my stuff. I’m no Collyer brother. My place is neat, in its own way. I still own my first two records, both by Dave Seville and the Chipmunks: “Witch Doctor,” in 1958, and 1959, “Alvin’s Harmonica.” The football is from 1969 and the main reason it’s still here:… 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 »
“I used to ride in my father’s rumble seat,” Dad told me while we sat at the bar in Loftus Tavern. As Dad drank a short beer and I sipped a Coke, I wondered what’s a rumble seat? He said, “It was a seat that hinged out of the back of the car; it felt… 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 »
I got married in a BCBGMAXAZRIA party dress that I ordered online from Nordstrom’s for $288. Because my dress budget was low, my shoe budget was high. Until that point, the most expensive shoes I’d ever purchased were a pair of Steven by Steve Madden satin paisley d’Orsay pumps for $89.99, which I adored and… 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 »
Last week, as I re-watched “Models and Mortals” in preparation for this column, I realized something startling: I am finally as old as Carrie was in Season One. I am finally 32. Ten years ago, on September 11th, 2001, I was living in New York for the first time, subletting a place on 137th Street… Read more »
Last Saturday night I went to a get together at my friend’s apartment in Astoria. The event was a clothing swap, a popular phenomenon of late. You prepare for a clothing swap by going through your closet and removing all of the items you know you’ll never wear again. You put your pile of discards… Read more »
