I just got back from what I like to call “unshopping” — a painful and ludicrous part of consumer culture. This is when we de-stuff-ify ourselves. In this particular hour, I made four stops: To the church recycling dumpster, which takes cardboard and #5s, so I don’t have to throw them away. To return...
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Or, On How to Avoid Becoming a Lesbian at College My friend, Frances, and I have married the same man. Frances: Alex is bobsledding in Lillehammer. He’s a bit nervous. Me: Why? He’s loves to ski black diamonds in brightly colored one-piece snowsuits. Frances: The first time they go down in a big bathtub...
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… has nothing to do with $$$, and never has, although travel always requires work, which requires money in exchange for goods and services. … spent 3 years in London, and very much likes the Idea of British. … is sometimes melancholy, and loves thick lyrics that make me want to sing along. …...
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Or, The Case of My Dad and Neosporin I’d like to say, for the record, that I always thought it was weird that Neosporin had the word “spore” in the middle of it. That might have been, partly, why I always liked it. I also know that I liked it because my Dad was...
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... or Why I Wear My Hot Sexy Boots for A Gay Guy I Only See Once Every Eight Weeks Today I went through the torture ritual of getting dressed–prior to my haircut. There was a shower too, and shaving, and an awful lot of tweezing. I am off at 12:30 to see The...
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Frances and I were coming home from the West End recently, about 10:30 or so, on the Bakerloo Line. We were chatting in our normal voices — louder than most Londoners would shout if they saw the number 189 bus careening toward their dear old granny but much quieter than my beloved and now-deceased...
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