Skip to main content

Gay-borhood

 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: "Mom's ashes are out in the back. Could we dig them up?"

*The crazy lady across the street is perhaps not *intentionally* homophobic....but she *will* ask you how you "bought" your infant.

If I'm not chatting with Mr. Sedaris, I'm mourning the loss of Ann Reinking with his (Mr. Sedaris's) Broadway-loving husband, who informs me that Reinking contributed to the 1982 version of "Annie" -- and, still, this version is "not very good."

I'm not sure--were I "sans Marc"--I would ever have given thought to seeking out a gay-borhood. But this is one of many areas in which my spouse has shown himself to be wiser than I. We're eager for our post-Covid Maplewood days.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

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...
3 comments
Read more

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...
2 comments
Read more

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...
Post a Comment
Read more