"And Just Like That"

One thing I respect in this new SJP season is the focus on bad dates.

This was a source of delight back in the late nineties. Who could forget when Carrie lightly mocked Berger's use of the term "scrunchie," in a novel, and the mockery led to an apocalyptic kiss-off? Who could forget Stanford billing himself as an "Ed Harris type" on OKCupid? (The prospective date takes a look and keeps on walking.)

Now we have Seema magnanimously embracing the idea of a "penis pump," only to discover that her date won't tolerate the presence of a vibrator. (This seems true to life.) I also enjoyed Mariska Hargitay's spouse--trying to paper over signs that he is in a codependent relationship with his "app-making" colleague. Finally, it's always a good idea to recruit Miriam Shor, and I admired her work as an apparently sexy Jane Austen scholar who can't be bothered to wash her flannel sheets.

These little stories feel like "SVU procedurals"; the writers handle the date scenes very well.

On the other hand, occasional errors are strange. Would Mr. Hargitay make absolutely no effort to swerve (even though ...yes... he is in the bike lane)? If V Day is such a big deal in New York, why is Carrie able to find a basically empty (though ostensibly fancy) restaurant?

I'm still watching.

Comments

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

Search This Blog