Liars and Saints

 I am so tired of thinking and hearing about Joe Biden. I am so angry that--through his self-absorption and intransigence--he is steering the country toward another Trump presidency. It seems insane to me that the country is where it is. I'm annoyed about Jill Biden--and her "Vote" dress--as well. So it was helpful to spend two hours in a theater, watching a film about death. Sam is a young woman struggling with cancer. She lives in a facility upstate, and she attends group therapy. In another life, she was a poet--and her nurse forces her to "share" her most recent lyrical draft. This place is shit. The food tastes like shit. The music is shit. Ben smells like shit.... Rather surprisingly, Sam agrees to attend a field trip to NYC; the reason is that she desires a Patsy's slice, a kind of "Last Supper." It's only after the lengthy, smelly bus ride that she discovers she is living through an alien apocalypse. And the question becomes, what will

  It's easy to think of Frog as perfect--but, actually, he gaslights Toad. When spring arrives, Toad wants to sleep for another month. He says, "Wake me up in June." Annoyed, Frog just tears several sheets off Toad's calendar. "Look, it's June!" he lies. Toad doesn't question the falsehood, and the story ends in this ambiguous and unsettling way. James Marshall rewrites this scenario. In his version, Martha gets impatient with a sleeping George--and just straps roller skates to the bottom of George's bed. Martha then pushes the bed to a picnic. But the act of pushing exhausts her, and she sleeps through the feast. (George has a great time.) The stories suggest that both Marshall and Lobel were thinking about consent and control. And they were bold enough to allow their "heroes" to act in unheroic ways. I appreciate that.

  There is a program offering respite care; if your baby has behavioral challenges, a helper will come to your house and manage bedtime, and you can sit silently and stare at a wall for one or two hours. I have a friend whose child is on an idiosyncratic path. I love this friend. She has a religious background, but she is salty. "When they try to deny your respite care, you need to use the word  crisis . Call them every day and say you are on the verge of a  crisis . Say,  I'm just hoping to avert a crisis here.... " We are sitting at an outdoor pizza party for four-year-olds....Olivia Rodrigo spills out from the speakers:  I'm so blue, know we're through....BUT I STILL FUCKING LOVE YOU, BABE!!!! "People are so lost," says my friend. "I'm walking with my son, and this bitch sees his leg brace, and she mumbles, audibly,  That just breaks my heart ....And I say: Would you care to elaborate? My child has a huge smile on his face. Can you tell me ab

  A writer once proposed a rule for life: Read fiction about dastardly schemers, and read non-fiction about heroes. I don't know why this should be valuable advice, but it generally works for me. I can't quite read "The Wager," because I expect I will be reading about crummy people. But "Everything Was Possible," about the dreams of Sondheim and Michael Bennett, does appeal to me. If you write memoirs, you have to be a fairly decent person--because readers are always going to be judging your *soul* and not just your talent. And you have to tell the truth. Evasiveness is easily spotted, and it's not appealing. One thing I like about Liana Finck is that she imagines herself as two people: the actor, in the fetal position, and also the character, beaming in an inoffensive way. "Sometimes, a bland smile is your best defense." I personally use my bland smile in school meetings, in work exchanges, when an acquaintance tells a weird, unfunny story tha

 In childhood, I didn't connect "Cabaret" with "Follies"--but that's all I can think about now. Both shows use a "stage" in an odd way; a performer does a novelty number, and it's entertainment, but it's also a comment on the psychology of various characters. Additionally, both shows are interested in the Divided Self. In "Follies," Phyllis famously turns herself into two (warring) people: juicy Lucy and dressy Jessie, who can't quite "combine." Something like this occurs in "Cabaret," when Cliff agrees to make room for Sally. It's like Cliff is taking on "two ladies." I've thought and thought about what this means. "Two Ladies" is partly just about thumbing your nose at the rules: It can be fun to be in a throuple, and it can be fun to arrange an unorthodox pseudo-marriage with a bisexual stranger. But I also think that "Two Ladies" has a more sinister meaning. Cliff m

  A few weeks ago, I attended a "graduation" ceremony--and I whined because I think my town "overcooks" the graduation idea, and also the program itself was dramatically inert. (Yes, we're talking about three- and four-year-olds.) At the same time, I know I would have whined if the occasion *hadn't* been marked--and it's not like the particular hour in question would have yielded pages and pages of useful writing, if I'd stayed home. So I feel for Buddy, in "Follies," who is always lost in a fog. He believes that he wants illicit love with his girlfriend, Margie, but actually, she is sort of boring to him. Hey, Margie? You wanna go dancing? Or driving? Or something? OK, Babe... Whatever you say, Babe... You wanna stay home.... You wanna stay home....? At times, Buddy almost envisions a way forward, a way of deepening the relationship, but fatigue sets in..... The trip was rotten.... And the deal fell through... I pushed, Babe... I'm bus

 Liana Finck has said that she does not draw because of a "talent"--but because she has to. You can sense subtext underneath her little panels:  I don't care that this isn't pretty. I don't care that it's not conventionally "accomplished." I'm doing this for myself. Like many other great artists, Finck feels ill at ease on the planet. She is tired about various inane conversations with regard to parenting. Here is how she describes the situation: Someone will say, "Whoa, ho, ho! It gets easier!" A line leads to the next fellow citizen, who says, "You think this is hard? Just wait till she can WALK!" A line then leads to a next comment: "It gets easier!" Followed by a new observation: "This hardship is NOTHING! Just wait till she can WALK!" And so on.   Finck generally seems to be telling the truth--not aiming for sentimentality, not aiming for sound bytes. She is good company, at least in her newest book.

  One trick of Sondheim's is to dissect each and every word in a common phrase. "Could I Leave You?" ....Sondheim looks at "could" vs. "will".... (Yes, I *could* leave you--but, for an end to this story, you'll have to wait and see....) Could *I* leave you? ("How could *I* leave....when I left long ago?") Could I *leave* you? ("No, the point is....could you *leave* me?") Could I leave *you* ....and *your* shelves of the world's best books...and the evenings of martyred looks, cryptic sighs....? A similar magic is on display in "Old Friends," from "Merrily We Roll Along." What is a friend? Most friends fade... Or they don't make the grade.... New ones are quickly made-- And, in a pinch, sure, they'll do.... What does it mean to be "old," in someone's life? (Maybe you learn an answer by contrasting "old" with "good" ....) Good friends point out your lies-- Whereas O

  My favorite bookstore is Three Lives--hardly an unorthodox choice. Here are some things this store does well: *Year after year, it is utterly the same.  The room doesn't change--just the books. The color scheme, the lettering, the location of the "Staff Picks": The word "iconic" gets overused, but this is an "iconic visual," in the West Village. *The staff members are fabulously attractive, and they seem to like one another.  The other day, the cashier confessed that a stranger had confused him with Penn Badgley, in "You." And this wasn't even a humblebrag. It's entirely plausible that this cashier would, in fact, share his identity with Penn Badgley. (Only in New York....) *You hear stories.  Amor Towles signs his books very fast, and he meets deadlines. Sondheim had little patience for Barbra Streisand, and he was pleased that she didn't get to direct a film version of "Gypsy." Certain critics enjoy (and talk freely

 What are the gay "stations of the cross"? If a "straight" coming-of-age novel tends to involve dating, followed by commitment, followed by the start of a family, then how does a gay writer work with "straight" conventions? Thomas Grattan's "In Tongues" involves a young gay man who is lost in Minneapolis. His father runs a red light and almost commits (unintentional) homicide--and this leads to a rupture in the family. Dad slips away and finds Jesus--which means that he has an excuse to disown his son. Later, this son, Gordon, buys a train ticket to New York City, where the disaster of his twenties will unfold. By chance, Gordon finds himself employed as a kind of domestic assistant to an older wealthy gay couple. (The two older men own a gallery.) Gordon acquires some helpful tips: how to dress, how to handle yourself in a European city. But there is a steep price. The older men are lecherous; one seduces Gordon, and the other encourages Gor

 A few thoughts on the Tony Awards.... *Not to be picky, but wouldn't it have been appropriate to replace Audra with a real triple threat, during the Chita segment? Chita viewed herself as a dancer. How about enlisting Vanessa Williams, or Charlotte d'Amboise? *When people express surprise about the Groff "delay" ( I can't believe he hadn't won a Tony yet ), it's not because he has a million credits. It's because the few projects he has chosen have been such Hall of Famers. "Spring Awakening," "Hamilton," "Merrily We Roll Along": These are shows that will have their own exhibits at the Museum of Broadway. It's remarkable that one career found a way to attach itself to each of these three productions. *Who cares about Alicia Keys and Jay-Z? They aren't actually in "Hell's Kitchen." When you have Shoshana Bean and Brandon Victor Dixon in one cast, and you don't build the Tony Awards segment around t

 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

  It's nice to bump into a perfect first paragraph. The start of "In Tongues" involves several fast events. Our narrator, Gordon, gets dumped. He seems to leave his body; in a trance, he steals some cash, sells his car, hitchhikes to a bus station, and makes a choice. He begins a trip from the middle of the country to New York City. One special part of this passage is the way Gordon "buries the lede." "The night my boyfriend dumped me, I rested on the couch...." "The feeling lingered as I stole some cash...." "It lingered as I hitchhiked...." The ostensibly "interesting" parts of these observations are not the main "thrust." We might not think that the drama is about a lingering feeling, or about resting on a couch. We might say the drama is about getting dumped, stealing, and breaking another law by hitchhiking. But Gordon begs to differ. Then there is the use of tension. A stranger "smacks" a mop up a

  When Sondheim wrote “Losing My Mind,” he was thinking of Ira Gershwin: Someday, he’ll come along— The man I love…. And he’ll be big and strong— The man I love. You can see a similar approach to structure, in Sondheim: The sun comes up— I think about you. The coffee cup— I think about you…. In his bridge, Gershwin plays with the idea of time: Maybe I will meet him Monday— Maybe Sunday, maybe not. Still I’m sure to meet him one day… Maybe Tuesday will be my “good news” day…. In a similar way, Sondheim takes us from sunrise, to a stagnant afternoon, to 12 am: I dim the lights and think about you… Spend sleepless nights to think about you…. The fun twist is that Sondheim—in a Gershwin style—is repudiating Gershwin. The subtext of Gershwin is that love wins; once you find your “man,” you get your Jane Austen ending. But Sondheim suggests that—regardless of the path you take—you are doomed to a life of ambivalence.  Sondheim ends with a question mark. The singer looks lost—and she just wal

My second frenemy is like Helen Lovejoy, on "The Simpsons"; I shudder when I see her. She works at my daughter's school, and there is something rabid in her eyes; also, she stands just a tad too close, in normal interactions. "Your daughter left her stuffed dog at home yesterday, and in fact, she didn't miss the dog at all....so maybe consider hiding the dog, in daylight hours?" "What is your schedule for potty training? I ask only because the *public* pre-Kindergarten will want to see progress...." "Here is your medical record, for your daughter. This is the original. Keep it. Don't recycle it. You want to keep the medical record; I've attached a helpful reminder, via post-it note...." She appears in my dreams, like Fruma Sarah, in "Fiddler." "That scratch on the left cheek....Was that the dog? The result of aggression, from your other child....?" She produces a steno pad and pen; she takes notes.....

  Prince wrote "Nothing Compares 2 U" for his cleaning person. She took a leave of absence--and the adjustment was so difficult, it made Prince think of a lost romantic connection. It's been seven hours and thirteen days-- Since you took your love away. I go out every night and sleep all day-- Since you took your love away. Because of his talent, Prince is able to see himself as a character--to track his own moves throughout a lengthy odyssey. We watch Prince dining in fancy restaurants, seeking meaningless sex, sleeping through the day. The plot thickens when Prince visits a shrink--such is the depth of his post-cleaning-lady sadness. (The visit accomplishes nothing.) Often, songs encourage us to perk up and feel empowered--but it's the high-decibel whininess of Prince that really comforts me. This guy is a mess--start to finish. Who could fail to relate? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JbpcNGe1IoY

  The thing that moves me in art is specificity; a basic gesture can be memorable if the artist really thinks about the details. In the current production of “Cabaret,” when Herr Schultz presents Fraulein Schneider with a pineapple, he has to insert it into a paper bag. This becomes an erotic act; Schneider stumbles because of the new, massive “rod” in her “bag.” It’s an excellent choice. A picture book I like—“A Chair for My Mother”—tells a simple story. A little girl lives with her single mother, who is a waitress. One day, the apartment goes up in flames. The town rallies around the little girl; life begins again. But Mom doesn’t have a comfortable chair. After a lengthy savings campaign, the family discovers they are capable of purchasing a new chair. Hooray! That’s the end. The reason this book is a classic is its tiny, tiny observations. For example, the girl notices that “some days, Mom comes home from work and she is half-awake, and other days, she is laughing because of a joke

  Sometimes, my shrink suggests that I ought to "up" my Lexapro dosage. This tends to come as a surprise to me. I might be telling a story along these lines: "And then I just said to the postal carrier... Thanks for your concern. FUCK YOU ." Mildly, my shrink will say, "You advised a postal carrier to fuck off? You know, your dosage is quite low....There is no harm in an adjustment...." More recently, I have become involved in a silent war with a mysterious neighbor. There is a steep private road next to my house, and if you turn off the main road, you may encounter another vehicle seeking egress from the private road. The road can't fit two cars, so someone needs to budge. It seems to me that there is an unwritten law: If you're leaving the private road, you just back up, you "give ground," because this is much easier to do than retreating onto the main, public road, where traffic is trying to fly by. One of my neighbors made the strange

  Almost every time I file an insurance claim for my child, the insurance company (a true "Cadillac") loses the claim, incorrectly processes the claim, or fails to upload the claim. I submit all of my spouse's claims, but because I am of "the second sex," and this is the year 1923, I cannot actually see what happens to these claims. My spouse has to check the status. But the email address he submitted--the address for receiving a "background verification" password--is now inactive. So he has no access to the special password, and cannot check what happens to his claims. I sometimes offer to hold his hand if he would be willing to wage this particular war with the insurance company--but (I think) I don't offer enough. So: I'm tipping my hat to the cartoonist Liana Finck. You can see the influence of Roz Chast here. In the featured panel, Finck tells the truth about insurance companies--and she does it in a fresh, dry way. I especially like the &

  Three: the best number.  People sometimes think that a story of three is a love triangle--but that label rarely works. In a true love triangle, each vertex is pulled toward the other two vertices. The movie "Challengers" is a true love triangle. I didn't like "Challengers," but I do like "Coup de Chance," a silly, skillful thriller. In this film, a young woman--let's call her Diane Keaton--feels trapped in her marriage. She thinks of herself as a trophy wife, and she overhears other people describing her in this way. Her spouse (we'll call him Michael Caine) controls what she wears and how much time she devotes to cardiovascular training. Diane Keaton meets an old friend, a novelist (his name could be Woody Allen). And Allen and Keaton begin an affair; they read together, they take long walks in the park. Michael Caine becomes suspicious--digs up evidence of the affair--and orders a "hit" on Woody Allen. And Keaton is led to believe

 My dog's best friend has issues; that's why we like him.  The friend in question, Shep, views all nearby pedestrians as invaders; a battle inevitably breaks out. Shep's ferocity has consequences. One of my neighbors--the dearest, kindest neighbor--actually lost a portion of his hand. At the same time, my own dog, Salvy, has a challenge. His weight is never what it "should" be. For a long while, Salvy would visit Shep--and it was easy to imagine that the two would simply talk, and listen. Salvy could be a kind of saintly therapist, like the Ted Danson character on "Cheers." And Shep could do the same. Recently, Shep broke up with Salvy. It wasn't a "ghosting"; we were told that Shep needed work on his kitchen, and the contractor felt afraid of non-Shep doggies. We tried to move Shep's playdates to our own yard but, oddly, Shep wasn't interested. And this was all a prelude, like the moment your boyfriend announces he wants "more

 "Hacks" succeeds in some ways and not in others. A big problem is the relentless unfunniness of the "funny" material. We are meant to laugh when Deborah Vance plays a prank on Carrot Top, but the prank is cruel and trite (and the writing has a weird sense of unearned self-regard). It's supposed to be hilarious when a TSA agent mentions a "cuck cage" on a late-night show, but again, there is a kind of laziness in the scene. Additionally, Deborah expresses rage because "Paul Newman cornered the market on salad dressing." This wouldn't make it past the first draft, if it were a joke that was pitched for any particular moment in Seasons One through Ten of "The Simpsons." The main reason I like the show is this: Jean Smart. I like the "origin story." Smart's Deborah Vance was once meant to ascend to great heights--but her husband left her for her sister, and when the sister's house burned down, Deborah was wrongly

 One day, during the reign of Covid, Sebastian Junger was home on Cape Cod, and his pancreatic artery ruptured. He had been experiencing severe pain, off and on, for a long while, but he was extremely fit, and he had an aversion to "complaining," so he hadn't acted on his worries. (How scary it is to think about bodies. One story Junger tells is about a young man experiencing headaches. He goes in for testing, and the doctors say, "You're fine." But one particular doctor has misgivings, and demands an additional test. It's this final test that helps to identify a major aneurysm near the brain--and then experts intervene at the last possible moment,  while the aneurysm is in the process of rupturing .) Junger was fortunate to have his emergency during daylight hours--when the most capable doctors were available. (In NYC, people joke that you want to have your medical event during daylight, and you want to have it in Manhattan. You don't want your hour

 Fred Ebb's brilliant "Cabaret" has an unusual "I Want" song; Sally Bowles is performing. She is not actually sharing her inner monologue. But the lyrics do shed light on her emotional life. We're aware, right away, that she is in a tug-of-war; she is stuck between her superego and her id. Please, sir, if you run into my mother... Don't reveal my indiscretion... Just leave well enough alone... Hush up! Don't tell Mama. Shush up! Don't tell Mama. Let's trust one another: Keep this from my mother. Though my dance is not against the law.... A part of Sally does want to be a functioning, responsible adult. (If this weren't the case, her big number might be called, "Mama Can Go Fuck Herself.") We see Sally flirting with the idea of healthy living--leading a guy on, considering parenthood, making concrete plans--but, ultimately, self-sabotage is too much fun. When Sally torpedoes her love affair, she does it in an especially thoughtle

 "Flung Out of Space" is a reference to Therese, in "Carol"--but it could also function as a description of Patricia Highsmith's talent. This is a gift that seems "flung out of space." In a recent graphic novel, Highsmith is working on comics, but hoping to become a serious writer. "I don't write crime novels," she says. "I write good novels, with criminal elements." Stan Lee tries to recruit her; he envisions a future of caped crusaders. But Highsmith's dreams are full of sleepless men in clouds of cigar smoke, concealing guns under trench coats. Highsmith is both homophobic and misogynistic; she enters conversion therapy. She joins a support group for "latent homosexuals"--but, almost immediately, she begins sleeping with a married woman in the group. This leads to a novel--"The Price of Salt"--which inspires one gay reader to "go out and find my own Carol." I borrowed this book after watching