Ayeeee. I woke up at 4 this morning, not due to anxiety for a change, but a freakin’ mosquito. What is that fucker doing in my home in November? I don’t know. But it woke me up. And, shades of being in Fire Island fell on me, sleepless nights swarmed by mozzies flitting in and around my ear. So I turned my lamp on. Too tired to write or think or even look at Bumble. I just waited for the mozzie to return and eventually I fell asleep. Oh, today is going to be fun. NOT.
I spent a lot of time this weekend sitting in the dark. On Friday night I went to Signature Theater to see Suzan Lori-Parks’ “The Death of the Last Black Man in the Whole Entire World AKA the Negro Book of the Dead,” a non-linear walk through the Black archetypes of history. Saturday, I saw Josie Long’s Something Better at the Barrow Street Theatre. Josie Long is a stand up comic, and her show is an exploration into the politics of being 34; ridiculously funny, and I needed an hour in the dark, laughing. And, then yesterday, I went with The Teenager to see Dear Evan Hanson at the Music Box Theatre.
Holy, holy, holy.
“We start with stars in our eyes
We start believing that we belong
But every sun doesn’t rise
And no one tells you where you went wrong…”
These lyrics. Hit home big time. Dear Evan Hanson is a complicated story, but the nerve it strikes–the abject loneliness I felt as a teenager, the one that haunts me and has haunted me throughout my lifetime–is the playing field I relate to it on. Always on the outside looking in–to friend groups and Facebook groups and marriages and work groups. Always feeling not completely both feet in. Always, that feeling, is there, and has been. So much of what each of the characters endure is familiar to me, and I left the theatre feeling, if anything, hopeful. That there is art to connect to. There is art.
My dear friend Leslie King designed these gorgeous handbags and now they’re on sale. Get one before they’re gone.
Birth control is available to pigeons but possibly under the discrepancy of the State for women? How is this?
Revenge porn is the throne from which attorney Carrie Goldberg reigns. Yes, Qween.
This seems more like a brandvetorial for HRT, but maybe there’s some info about menopause in here that you didn’t already know. (Afraid to ask? That, I’m afraid, is a misleading headline.)
Women’s work, being a bodyguard.
Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, is interviewed. Now there’s a woman I love.