Skip to main content

Fall Preview

It's fall. Here's what is happening at 16 Walnut Court.

*I pitched an editor at "Out." I have some "gay ideas." A piece on the legend Val McDermid, who is publishing *both* fiction *and* a book of essays ("My Scotland") this year. A piece on Judy Garland, and on Judy-by-way-of-Renee-Zellweger. A collection of musings on gay-dad-hood. These are good ideas. We'll see.

*Baby Joshua is making tentative steps toward sleep-training. Right now, he wakes up around 3:30 am, fusses for approximately five minutes, then wins his reward for having (briefly) delayed gratification. Go, Joshua!

*My husband and I are plunging into the house-hunting world. Sort of. It's difficult to envision packing boxes and hauling ourselves elsewhere, around Christmas, when we have a small human chatting in the background. But the visions are coming. They are starting to form.

In the world of entertainment, I'm most excited by:

*Books: The Reign of the Middlebrow Middle-Aged Storyteller: "Olive, Again" (Strout) and "The Dutch House" (Patchett). But, also, on weirder terrain: "All This Could Be Yours" (Attenberg) and "How the Dead Speak" (McDermid).

*Broadway: The Year of Sondheim. "Assassins," "West Side Story," "Company." Also: "Little Shop of Horrors" and "Caroline, or Change." And the Year of Mary-Louise Parker: Both the fall thriller *and* the revival of "How I Learned to Drive." (!) And I'd love to see--and surely won't see--"Betrayal."

*Movies: Rian Johnson revives the murder mystery. My hero Noah Baumbach returns.

*TV: The Crown, The Crown, The Crown. I'm also drawn to that trashy new show called "Evil." Great title!

BRING IT ON!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

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...