Liars and Saints

 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: "...

 There is a cliche: Major deaths happen in threes. I think that's a cliche? I think I heard that before? In any case, in recent weeks, the world lost scholar and novelist Alison Lurie. The world lost John le Carre. And the world lost Broadway legend Ann Reinking. I knew in high school that Ann Reinking was a source of reverence for many people; I knew because of the "Chicago" revival recording. That fabled production won many Tony Awards; Reinking won for her choreography, but, also, she was the star of the show. You'd hear the strange, monstrous character she invented on the recordings for "Roxie" and "Nowadays" and "My Baby and Me." In high school, I didn't really appreciate dance, but, now, I appreciate it more and more, and I can see why a fan might call Reinking a genius. Watching her clips, I also think of the talent, ambition, and appetite that must have gone into "becoming who she was." Hooray for the memory of Ann R...