Liars and Saints

  "Hazel's Amazing Mother" is centered on a raccoon, Hazel, who is like a new version of Little Red Ridinghood. She has cash from her mom; her goal is to find goodies for an upcoming picnic. She sets out with her doll, Eleanor, but she keeps getting waylaid. In a dark wood, Hazel encounters a nasty chipmunk--Doris, an agent of chaos. Without explanation, Doris and her minions assault the doll Eleanor. The carriage-toy gets disemboweled. Eleanor is dropped in a puddle. Through the power of filial love, Hazel is able to summon her mother. A great gust of wind carries Mom's picnic blanket-cum-airplane--carries this item way, way, way across the countryside. In the dark wood, Mom rescues Hazel. She puts Doris through a "natural-consequence" workout. ("Fix the doll. Fix the carriage.") And the picnic occurs--just as envisioned. I like Rosemary Wells's sense of freedom. She does not have to "explain" the root cause of Doris's nastiness....

  If I had to choose a favorite title, I might choose "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes." That title! So obnoxious, so shallow--and not untrue. In the middle of the story, the heroine Lorelei complains to her suitor that she can't control her own social life. She can't tell people to stop paying attention to her. It's just that "gentlemen prefer blondes--like me." And her suitor has a memorable reply: "What am *I* to do....if they keep on...PREFERRING you?" This is a sharp, dirty musical. It's famous for "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend." This song is an I AM song--the heroine has a message for us. The message is this: "I am FUCKING  SMART . Don't forget it." Men grow cold-- As girls grow old. And we all lose our charms in the end. But...square cut or pear-shaped... THESE ROCKS don't lose THEIR shape. Diamonds are a girl's best friend. Diamonds are interesting not because they are beautiful. Diamonds are intere...

 Like many other parents, I spend the day wondering, What would Barack Obama do ? He always seems so unflappable. When little Malia needed to see the dentist, and there were no community-organizer duties on Barack's calendar, we can imagine that there was a father-daughter outing. And this wasn't stress-free. I have decided that Barack packed a novel for these obligations; he seems to enjoy books. And so--for my most recent trip to the Marigold Pediatric Dental Group--I brought along a book about Hannibal Lecter. People see you reading a scholarly essay about cannibalism--and they're not eager to make chit-chat. They do not breathlessly narrate the story of your daughter's teeth. They do not tell you about the "sugar bugs" on the top front tooth--and so you do not have to pretend to be interested in the sugar bugs. (Our culture wants you to pretend--and our culture wants you to feel bad about *not* actually being interested.) But this is the only advice I have...

 I tried to get lost in "Frankenstein," but the story seemed dry. Yes, Guillermo del Toro has an artistic gift; it's fun to see the polar ice caps, the flowy Mia Goth gowns, the Victorian mansion. But I never "felt for" Victor Frankenstein; Lorrie Moore says you need to "bake life" into a work of art, and del Toro's movie seems to have overlooked the "life" part of the recipe. But this is an occasion to "nominate" some worthy overlooked performances. If I could control the Oscars, I would make room for Harry Meling, but I'd also make room for the following: Liam Neeson, "The Naked Gun" Eva Victor, "Sorry, Baby" Josh O'Connor, "Rebuilding" Jack Quaid, "Novocaine" Jai Courtney, "Dangerous Animals" Lest we forget. These were examples of great work.

 My town is made up of Manhattan and Brooklyn transplants, and most of us are just a bit self-centered. For example, when my spouse and I moved into our house, one of our neighbors--whose lawn touched ours--made no effort to say hello. The neighbor had our phone numbers, our names, our email addresses--all of these bits get shared on "the back road." There was total silence. However, Marc and I had received misinformation about a parking question. One morning, we walked out to our car to discover a typed document explaining (with a veiled threat) that we had encroached on the neighbor's parking terrain. The letter included a copy of the neighbor's most recent land survey. This was how the neighbor (ultimately) introduced himself to us. By contrast, a woman who was not actually our neighbor--but who lived nearby--baked cookies and greeted us with a handwritten letter; the letter shared a brief story about her many years in Maplewood. I grew fond of this woman. I didn...

  For a long while, I believed that my neighbor had ghosted me. This was the neighbor who recently vacationed on "Pig Island." We had a stretch where we regularly dined together--then the text messages became terse and un-encouraging. As a conspiracy theorist, I imagined that I had done something outrageous and offensive (and I'd never learn the truth). But my neighbor *does* continue to narrate his life for me. The narration remains breathless (and it happens whenever we pass each other on the sidewalk). "I'm hosting 25 guests for a Golden Globes watch party and sleepover--then I'm off to Manila for a month." "I said that my boss runs a toxic workplace, and he retaliated by reporting me to Child Protective Services." "My meeting with CPS caused me to have a heart attack--I was briefly, officially dead--but now I'm back on track and working full-time in a Kindergarten classroom." Once, I tried to rehearse for a brief encounter. I ...