A Modest Proposal

There's nothing more dreadful than the thought of "going out" for New Year's Eve. I watch the bovine masses in Times Square; to mix metaphors, those folks bray, proudly, about how they've peed in a jar for the past thirteen hours, over and over, just to have a shot at a close-up view of Anderson Cooper. Few things make me feel more like an alien than the act of scrutinizing those joyous crowds.

The thought of all those humans--bossy, loud, aggressive. The unwanted physical contact. The standing. The visual dullness: ugly, garish Times Square, beating down on you, hour after hour after hour.

The enforced cheeriness. The pressure to feel that this next year will be *so different* from all the ones that have come before it. The crazy desire to reform all of one's bad behaviors. The grating sound of cheap plastic "noisemakers."

One gift New York City gave me was the possibility of an alternative New Year's Eve. I hadn't known there was another option. The option is: Film Forum. Here's what Film Forum will do for you on Dec. 31st. Those people will screen a black-and-white classic for you. It might be Otto Preminger's "Laura." It might be Barbara Stanwyck; I think the movie was "Remember the Night." (How ironic that, really, I can't remember that particular night.)

You sit in comfort and watch geniuses being geniuses; the script is tight; the iconic stars are witty and vivacious. (Sondheim said some of his heroes are scriptwriters of the thirties and forties; "they would write five movies, and four would be really smart, and one would be outstanding.")

After the movie, Film Forum gives you a free glass of champagne. You have a toast, and you're home and in bed before eleven, like a civilized person. You are not torturing yourself with a new, inane Demi Lovato performance on television. Or waiting to see how many times Anderson Cooper can emit his girlish giggle in a five-minute span of soul-deadening unscripted Blather Television.

This year, I have persuaded my spouse to try a variation on my ideal New Year's Eve. We will not be at Film Forum, but we will be home with Thornton Wilder's "Shadow of a Doubt." Many people would call this film Hitchcock's "Shadow of a Doubt"--but I like to put the spotlight on Wilder. The movie has a "gay sensibility," and that has to be in due, at least in part, to Wilder's contribution.

We are meant to root for the plucky good girl who uncovers evil, but I sort of suspect that Wilder's heart was with the nefarious outsider. The man with a secret. The man who infiltrates small-town America and adds a bit of drama, a bit of flair. Yes, he's a murderer, but wouldn't you choose his company over many other characters'? I would.

Sinister goings-on spill into the local library. Corpses of widows pop up. A car becomes a murder-device, or attempted murder-device. A staircase in disrepair turns out not *just* to be part of the scenery. All the while, there's Wilder's bitchy, memorable attention to minor characters: the depressed, brainless waitress at the local restaurant, the insane next-door neighbor with a true crime fetish, the book-smart little girl who evokes thoughts of one of the younger daughters from "Pride and Prejudice."

I'm convinced I can seduce my Hitchcock-doubting husband with this masterwork--and, from there, the sky's the limit. "Strangers on a Train," "Psycho," "Rear Window." These are all key ingredients in an ideal New Year's Eve--in *my* ideal New Year's Eve. Consider the thought. And wish me luck.

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...

Liars and Saints

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