When I decided to learn the mandolin, I did not know that this endeavor would be useful for picking up cute mandolin/banjo/bass-playing boys at East Village bars ( Read more... )

I reread parts of my collected Katherine Mansfield stories recently. I'd forgotten much of "Bliss," and was startled to see how relevant it has become, in certain circumstances. Like when my husband has an affair with a blond woman on whom I have an ambiguous crush ( Read more... )

Hank Azaria wears Calvin Klein socks.

It's my parents' 34th anniversary today. As we walked through Chinatown on the way to the Eldridge Street Synagogue multicultural street fair (celebrating the blending of Jewish and Chinese cultures in the LES), Mom realized that it was 34 years to the hour -- they were married on a Sunday afternoon. They were both in their totebags and baseball ( Read more... )

This weekend I sat by myself on a rock outcropping overlooking the rolling patchwork of the Catskills. I'd finally shed my noisy companions, and was thrilled at the half hour of solitude which afforded a rare chance to breathe like a naturalist. And I did, in full, lungs-to-bursting gulps. When one is in such a mindframe, one catches stimuli that ( Read more... )

I've been meaning to write the Reflections on One Year Out entry since the 18th, when it was the anniversary of graduation. I always wrote a debriefing at the ends of school years, just to mark the pace a bit. In a few years it will stop being so clean-cut, though I guess there will always be anniversaries -- one year working at a job, one year ( Read more... )

I have a new resolution regarding requirements for those seeking public office ( Read more... )

I was seventeen when I met a Sudanese person for the first time. She had come to LSS to enroll in the matching grant program I was working on so that she could save up for an education (or perhaps it was a car or a computer; I don't remember). I do remember being struck by how uniquely beautiful she was. Tall, beautifully dark, high cheekbones, ( Read more... )

The skin on the fingertips of my left hand is peeling off in shards. Who knew: the key to happiness is something akin to leprosy, apparently ( Read more... )

No pictures were taken during the pre-birthday party. This is fine, because the experience really would outshine any photographic evidence. However, when April 2nd dawned bright, warm, and lovely, how could I not take pictures to document this Best Ever of Birthdays?

( Photo/video essay, mostly for personal purposes of documentation. Couldn't hurt to do the web equivalent of jumping up and down at my friends, though, right? Please forgive this foray into blatant narcissism! )