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...

The Death of Bergoglio

It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic. She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...

Liars and Saints

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