Liars and Saints

 Maplewood is an unofficial "gay-borhood," which means that many of our neighbors are gay. We bought our house from a pair of lesbians, and I've actually lost count of the young gay families who share a little back road with us. (My husband is better at keeping track of that sort of thing.) The best part of the gay-borhood is that--purely by chance--I find myself living next door to a version of David Sedaris. This person is a genius storyteller, and I'm not sure he's aware. (I bet his husband and kids are aware.) Living next to Sedaris, I learned all I needed to know about Maplewood, and I learned it in a kind of feverish "Desperate Housewives" way (and I couldn't ask for anything more): *The mean couple on Jefferson briefly antagonized the village dogs by hiding high-pitched pet-deterrent alarms in the trees. (This led to a discovery and confrontation.) *One couple bulldozed their new yard just before fielding a call from the former tenants: "

 This week, in my house, we can really only talk about the return of Elliot Stabler to "Law and Order: SVU." The big event is this Thursday, 9 PM. Elliot has been missing for ten years--the actor, Meloni, had contract issues--and actually, the last time we saw Elliot, he had just gunned down an adolescent girl (who had lost her mind and murdered the innocent, saintly Sister Peg, an urban do-gooder.....The murder happened in the squad room!!! By "the cage"!!!) In my house, we try to show proper respect to "Nomadland" and to "The Father," but really we want to see Mariska Hargitay all the time. You can almost hear the sigh of relief when we finally go back to the SVU vault. "Oh, look! Oscar nominee Michael Shannon seems to be guilty of murder and/or pedophilia--but, really, he is 100% innocent and sort of a decent guy!" "Ah, Oscar nominee Isabelle Huppert paid a stranger to stage an abduction in the middle of a custody dispute.... bu

 Anne Lamott, the gifted essayist, has a new book. She has married (for the first time, I think), she is in her sixties, and she has new material. Lamott must have an extraordinary marriage, because her spouse has consented to appear in a few stories. These stories are "worth the price of admission"; they are about what it means to live with someone in close quarters, and this material is especially valuable during the pandemic. Lamott notes that her husband has a slight "mansplainer" tendency, and the examples she gives are priceless. These two are both mildly Jesus-y, so they drive around chatting about the New Testament (and this is easy to imagine). Anne's husband begins a speech about how the immaculate conception does not refer to Jesus' birth, but in fact refers to Mary's birth. Anne--who had no desire to learn this--sits quietly and contemplates homicide. I love this. Later, Anne reveals that her reading of Jesus' reference to "lilies-of

 I'm writing today in gratitude for Beverly Cleary, who was a "spiritual" writer. She didn't talk about God (at least not much, in my memory), but she was aware of powerful, overlooked currents in everyday life, and her writing was wondrous. One of my favorites, among Cleary's inventions, is Leigh Botts. He is lonely in California, and he writes to the humor-novelist Boyd Henshaw, who basically says: "You have a shitty situation, but why don't you stop waiting for change? Why don't you yourself make some changes?" Leigh begins to write, and his writing makes him a deeper reader, and his reading makes him inventive and empathic. The world around him doesn't get notably "better," but Leigh himself becomes stronger, and the lost, powerless page-one kid begins to seem like a distant memory.  The book seems like a magic trick: Cleary describes personal change over time, and she doesn't make you aware of her machinations and tricks. T

 What a joy it is to sink into a book that feels close to *a sure thing* ....You know you're in good hands even before the end of the first chapter. That's the feeling Donna Leon delivers book after book after book, and we've just received her thirtieth Guido Brunetti volume this month. Guido is an unusually thoughtful detective living in Venice, in the modern day; he reads Tacitus, and he fears that his little town is sinking into the sea. He has a solid marriage to a sassy Henry James scholar; he has adolescent children who worry about vegan dieting, and about the environment. At the office, Guido can chat with Elettra, the rule-bending genius administrative assistant, and he can spar with Patta, his insufferable boss. These characters are so well-defined after thirty years, you do actually feel that you live in their neighborhood. I'm not too far into "Transient Desires" -- the new Brunetti -- but I'm already enjoying the weird details that distinguish

 In middle school, I became obsessed with the Broadway revival of "Show Boat," which had Rebecca Luker, the one and only "Magnolia" to earn a Tony nomination (thus far).  Listening to the recording, you have an easy time getting swept up in Magnolia's story: the early innocence (including the conditional love song, "Make Believe," a kind of proto-"If I Loved You") ....to the big turning point ("You Are Love") ....to disillusionment, to a sadder-but-wiser state ("After the Ball").... Rebecca Luker was anointed the new Barbara Cook, the new Julie Andrews--and she went on to borrow from the Cook ("Music Man") and Andrews ("Sound of Music") repertoire. It's a great treat to see her performing at the Kennedy Center Honors for these two ladies; you can find the clips on YouTube. Late in her career, Luker (a candid interviewee) admitted that she wished she hadn't been such an ingenue. "I wish I

 In my house, we're all a bit obsessed with Sandra Boynton. Boynton was a grad student in drama--first at Berkeley, then at Yale. She began to do greeting cards on the side. One was for Christmas -- featuring "Dependent Claus," an anxious Santa who really relies on one reindeer for emotional support. (My source is Boynton's friend, Ann Patchett, the literary powerhouse: https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/books/sandra-boynton-is-changing-some-of-her-beloved-childrens-books-but-why-mess-with-perfection/2019/06/27/9447026e-9457-11e9-b58a-a6a9afaa0e3e_story.html .....) Boynton has written many, many bestsellers; in this house, we have the board books "Barnyard Dance," "Hippos Go Berserk," "What's Wrong, Little Pookie?" "Spooky Pookie," and "The Going to Bed Book." ("Barnyard Dance" is the favorite book of Olivia Benson's son, on "Law and Order: SVU.") I love "The Going to Bed Book

One wearying aspect of parenthood is: the products. I'm not asking for advice here. Also, I recognize my privilege (at least some of the time). I know I'm extraordinarily lucky and--for example--I'm not dealing with home-schooling during Covid, etc. (Praise be to Jesus!) As my toddler begins to assert his will, I feel special disdain for Pampers water wipes. This is because you can't just pluck a water wipe from the packaging; one wipe brings along a trail of seven additional wipes, and you have to peel a wipe away from the extras, using a thumb and forefinger. This is while your other hand is restraining your child so that he doesn't (a) throw himself from the changing table or (b) drag his digits through the mushy shit that has semi-adhered to his thigh, or (c) both (a) and (b), simultaneously. I also hate the sippy cup, which my son regards as a personal enemy. He holds it, and studies it, and throws it across the room. I think it's grimly humorous that the s

This week, I'm proudest of one thing. I'm proud to have obtained Klonopin. One particular domestic sin is: leaving the ice cream out so that it melts all over the place. I have sinned in this way--but, instead of ice cream, the thing I've been abusing is my spouse's Klonopin. My spouse is a generous man--and once, in his typically generous spirit, he said, "Take my Klonopin if you can't sleep." But I overstepped a boundary. I just began popping Marc's Klonopin on a *semi-regular* basis somewhere around 3 AM. I took his ice cream, and I let it melt all over the kitchen counter. This was particularly obnoxious because it meant that *Marc* had to go to his doctor and deliver a monologue about *my* problematic behavior. Never again. I'm a new man. I fought for my own little slip of paper from the doctor--and I won. Just knowing half a Klonopin is there for you--at 3 AM....This can be a tremendous gift. The knowledge can help you wage war with your own

Sondheim turns 91 tomorrow, and the Wall Street Journal has a wonderful piece that argues for Sondheim's overdue Nobel Prize: https://www.wsj.com/articles/why-stephen-sondheim-is-americas-greatest-living-writer-11615565018 Some of the main points: *Sondheim wrote "West Side Story" and "Gypsy" while he was still in his twenties--and, for most people, this would be more than enough for one career. *Sondheim himself pokes fun at his "darkness": "There is a tonic in things men do not wish to hear. But not much money." *The WSJ says that Sondheim is unusual because he is a serious artist working in a "popular" stream (the Broadway musical). It's puzzling if you try to compare "Company" to "Hello, Dolly!" or "Funny Girl." Better comparisons: John Updike and Joan Didion. *The WSJ says Sondheim's specialness derives from his interest in what *isn't* said. In a musical, a character tends to tell you

 "Minari" is like a Rodgers and Hammerstein comedy -- with two love stories happening concurrently. The first love story is the best; it concerns a little boy and his grandmother. The little boy gives his grandma brutal feedback; it's so brutal, it must have an element of affection. "You don't bake cookies." "Grandmas should not swear." "Grandmas should not watch wrestling." "I don't like you, and you smell bad." The boy's grandmother--a character for the ages--acts as a tireless advocate. She is eccentric, but, consistently, she has good advice. You don't throw a rock at a visible snake; it's best to have your threats remaining visible, and not ducking to hide in the bushes. You might disregard your neurotic parents; you're stronger than you think. Maybe don't dwell on your wardrobe selections before a picnic; no one cares what a little boy wears to a picnic. In the most touching sequence from this year,

 Marc discovered "Last Call"--at least for our little house--and I'm giving my endorsement here. It's the early nineties. A closeted married man ends up dead; his body is "disarticulated"; parts are found in various bins, where they shouldn't be. Another guy--the "Norm-from-CHEERS" for a certain gay bar in the West Village--ends up murdered in similar circumstances. And others die. A serial killer must be out and about. An investigation begins. But many cops are homophobic, and terror around HIV/AIDS seems to be fueling new hate crimes. One observer remarks that if you're murdered and you'd like to be a news story, you need to be "white, straight, and killed in Central Park." Meanwhile, the killer becomes careless. He seems to let slip that he works as a nurse--at St. Vincent's? And he might give his real first name to a pianist in a piano bar. Like any other good true-crime story, "Last Call" is a window to anot

Marc and I watched a particularly great "SVU" the other day, which made me think about my favorite single-episode TV moments of all time: *"Hitting the Fan" (THE GOOD WIFE) *"Beach House" (GIRLS) *"Long-Term Parking" (THE SOPRANOS) *"Consider Helen" (ENLIGHTENED) *"My Motherboard, My Self" (SEX AND THE CITY) Anyway, the SVU hour in question is called "Paternity." It starts weird and gets weirder. A little boy materializes with blood on his face; everyone thinks the blood belongs to his mother. In fact, the blood is from the boy's murdered Mormon nanny. At this point, you plan on a murder mystery about the nanny. But, in fact, the murder is solved almost immediately. The solution unearths a major issue within a marriage. This discovery leads to yet another murder. That murder also gets solved quickly--but the solution involves a domestic dispute for our protagonist, Stabler. In trying to handle the issue, Stabler

 Now, when I read a picture book to Josh, Josh finds an *adult* novel and tries to "read along." This involves struggling to open the cover, then shut the cover, then open the cover again. There is also some random folding-of-page-corners. We're reading: *"Portly McSwine," about a talking pig with an anxiety disorder. This is possibly James Marshall's masterpiece, and maybe my favorite book ever written. *"Cookies." A gay man--Arnold Lobel--writes about two amphibians and their struggles with dieting. *"The Special Gift." James Marshall channeling Anne Lamott--ironic, surprising, prickly, compassionate. I'm off for the week. I'll be in North Carolina with my family. My chosen reading: "The Other Woman" (Daniel Silva), "Dead Wake" (Larson), "Then She Found Me" (Lipman), "My Ex-Life" (McCauley), "Last Call" (Okrent, a title discovered by my husband). Eager to get started.

 After "Beauty and the Beast," the world waited approximately ten more years for another movie-musical to get a Best Picture Oscar nomination. That movie was "Moulin Rouge." The movie lost, and its lead, Nicole Kidman, lost, but "Chicago" had better luck the next year. (Though, when "Chicago" made waves, its star, Renee Zellweger, lost *her* Oscar to Nicole Kidman--for "The Hours.") "Moulin Rouge" is the story of a courtesan; though she is in the final stages of tuberculosis, she has a strong resemblance to Hitchcock-era Grace Kelly. She, Satine, is torn. Should she give her time to a penniless writer, whom she loves? Or should she trade love for commerce? Should she pretend to date a terrible duke, who will finance her acting career? Satine is tough, and inclined to dismiss the writer. ("The only way of loving me is....if you pay a lovely fee...") But the writer persists. And love wins the day. Love triumphs even ov

 A few thoughts on Christopher Plummer (for fans): *My favorite thing about the movie "Sound of Music" is Christopher Plummer, not just because he is astonishingly handsome. (Marc jokes that he can breathe easy, now that Plummer is no longer in the world.) *Plummer--trained to do Shakespeare--seems to have some ambivalence toward his movie-musical material, and he channels that ambivalence into his performance. In his first scene, he seems to feel superior to everything around him. (He called the movie "The Sound of Mucus," and sometimes, "S and M.") *Watch the little details in that first scene. Before speaking, Plummer grabs a book from one child, adjusts the tie of another, and wordlessly corrects the posture of a third. He has half-concealed disgust toward Maria; he can't explicitly say that he finds Maria ridiculous, so he takes out his irritation on the little whistle he is holding. (He really abuses that whistle.) Then--at the climax, when Maria

The Genius of Fred Ebb "Chicago" won the Oscar for Best Picture; this was the first time since the sixties that a movie musical took home top prize. (The first time since "Oliver!" -- a really weird choice.) Critics have said that "Chicago" is not as strong as another movie musical that emerged a few years later--"Hairspray." And yet "Hairspray" didn't get the Oscar-love that "Chicago" had attracted. Maybe this is related to the Academy's general anti-comedy prejudice. I really like "Chicago." I like the fabulous sets and costumes, and I like the chemistry between Renee Zellweger and her frenemy, Catherine Zeta-Jones. Zellweger is Roxie Hart, who murders her lover, then tries to turn the crime into a media opportunity. Zeta-Jones is a rival, who once murdered *two* people, and who is struggling to keep her own celebrity alive. The two dismiss each other, plead with each other, attempt to work with each other,

 I have a large abscess on my back. I'm not sure why it's there, but I've decided not to feel ashamed by it, and it's certainly been a source of entertainment these past few days. My doctor gasped when she saw it, and then she began to use particularly disgusting words, and I've made a hobby of cataloging the grossest language: "discharge from the growth," "the meat of the growth," "draining the pus," "when the infection begins to weep...." My doctor also suggested that I see an ENT, regarding earwax buildup. "You need a specialist for that?" said my husband. "Ask the doctor if you should call a proctologist every time you have to wipe your ass...." I picked up baby oil--as an earwax home-remedy--and my husband grew confused. "You're going to use that on the boil?" he asked. And I explained that I had moved on to Problem Number Two -- the ear problem. "You use a pipet and drop the oil in

Children's literature didn't die with Maurice Sendak. There are many living artists who work on great picture books, and my "contemporary-writer pantheon" includes: Kevin Henkes, Jerry Pinkney, Christian Robinson, and David Ezra Stein. That last name--Stein--had a hit with "Leaves," about a silly (but gentle) bear who enjoys the fall. Stein writes at home in Brooklyn, often with a small child clawing at his lap. I am not very well-versed in Stein's works, but a title I keep returning to is "Honey." This is the sequel to "Leaves." In this one, the bear wakes up from hibernating and dreams about honey. But it's not time yet. The bear delivers an ode to honey and its properties: visual ("clear"), olfactory ("spicy"), tactile ("thick"). The bear would like to distract himself, but the mind has other plans: Everything in the world begins to *resemble* honey ("the stream clear as honey," "the

 After twenty-plus seasons, "Law and Order: SVU" is still semi-consistently gripping. It's a great comfort to my family that new episodes are happening basically every week, even in the midst of Covid.  (Marc and I--and my mom--are all really puzzled by the show's treatment of face-masks. I'm sure much ink has been spilled on this topic. The directors seem to want to have their cake and eat it, too:  We care about face-masks! But we want you to see Mariska's stunning face in every scene! I'm reminded of the issues around Bane, and Bane's costume, in "The Dark Knight Rises.") A standout in the current season was the opener, which took on both Covid and the Central Park Birder disaster. (Why not?) Olivia Benson feels she handled the Central Park issue just fine: She listened to the problem, noted that one of the two characters had had prior arrests, and acted accordingly. But, later, a superior coolly points out that Olivia investigated *just*

 Five stars for "Sun Flower Lion," the first book my son actually seems to respond to. This is a deceptively simple tale. The narrator observes the sun, "bright as a flower." His gaze travels downward to actual flowers--which, with their yellow "petal-manes," seem to resemble tiny lions. By chance, a lion strolls by. He sniffs the lovely flower. He warms himself in the sun. All that heat leads to a nap--and, during the nap, the lion dreams he is surrounded by flowers, large as the sun. By the magic of dream-logic, the flowers become "cookies"--and the lion eats them all. Startled, newly awake, the lion realizes how hungry he is. He runs home to feast with his family. I love this because it's a subtle exploration of cause-and-effect. Running up the hill--mixed with the warmth of the sun--causes the lion to get sleepy. In his dream, he has dessert; his subconscious tells him he is starting to get hungry. Thus, awake again, the lion runs home fo

 Stephen Sondheim--who turns 91 this month, on March 22--had an early triumph with "You Could Drive a Person Crazy." Sondheim's great subject is ambivalence--and, here, a trio of speakers are lamenting the wishy-washy behaviors of a "Mr. Big" figure. This guy turns on the charm--and disappears. You could drive a person crazy.... You could drive a person mad... First, you make a person hazy.... So a person could be had. Then you leave a person dangling sadly Outside your door.... Which could only make a person gladly Want you even more.... The speakers are generally unwilling to admit they're speaking about themselves--so some of the humor comes from the awkward repetition of "a person." ("I'm asking for a friend....") Because he is a genius, Sondheim actually becomes enchanted with the word "person," and he returns to it again and again. "When a person says that you've upset her...that's when you're good....

 In this house, we are increasingly desperate for diversions and entertainment, so we're having a weeklong birthday festival in honor of Bernadette Peters. Ms. Peters--Broadway's greatest star, past, present, and future--turned 73 a few days ago. Marc and I began our festivities with a viewing of Bernadette's "SVU" hour. Ms. P. played "Stella Danquiss," a defense attorney "cold as ice." When she enters the room, "the temp drops by about five degrees." Next, we enjoyed Bernadette as Mrs. Rindell, a Madoff-esque financial schemer/femme fatale, in "The Good Fight." Everyone should watch this show--for many reasons--and especially because the writers have reteamed Bernadette with Christine Baranski (after their important 1982 theatrical partnership, "Sally and Marsha"). Obviously, no Bernadette party is complete without a viewing of her legendary 1998 concert, "Live from the Royal Festival Hall" (which you ca

 In its final hours, "It's a Sin" continues to feel like a revelation. It's like someone carried these stories for years--and he has finally allowed himself to sit in front of a computer and write. One character--Colin--is like Beth in "Little Women." At least for a while. We think he is going to have a decorous valedictory scene--he is such a saint!--but then the writer shocks us. Colin's condition means that he can't think clearly, and he begins ranting about his erotic fixation on one particular hospital guest. "I used to think about you and wank off," he says. Then: He actually begins fondling himself right there in public. This is like the writer's calling card: I'm not going to make things easy for you. Elsewhere, the character Roscoe becomes a high-paid rent boy for a conservative politician. Bizarrely, the politician reveals he has a "hard-on for Margaret Thatcher." Roscoe responds reasonably: "Nonsense. You&#