A blog about New York City, my books, and my cats. Mostly.
People in Penn Station lined up to buy Metrocards on New Year’s Eve. It was ridiculously freezing that night and half of me felt sorry for them for having such a cold night for celebrating, and half on me thought they were insane. Because they were probably heading to Times Square. Which is insane. And can’t be fun.
I was watching reruns of What Not to Wear the other day. God I miss Stacy and Clinton. That was a fun show. I also miss the hope that one day I’d get to be on it.
This bird was tweeting the other day as I walked past and I loved the sounds it made. It’s a common bird, but I must admit I don’t know what it is.
As America continues to disintegrate, it’s nice to have things like Grace Church’s yearly presentation of Amahl and the Night Visitors to enjoy with friends. Thank you Anna Sorensen, Tami Petty, Aram Tchobanian, AJ Stetson, Alvin Crawford, Bob Lukomski, the Grace Church Adult Choir, and Dr. Patrick Allen.
Oh wow! AJ Stetson is also the amazingly, insanely talented artist who took photographs of our choir recently. I’ve been watching him sing King Melchior every year for years! And now I learn that he was the one who did this nice thing for us!
It’s not too late to get tickets for How to Be a Rock Critic at the Public Theater.
“Gonzo journalist, America’s greatest rock critic and inventor of the word “punk,” legendary music writer Lester Bangs was an American icon. Outsized, manic, chaotic, and impossibly creative, Bangs traveled with some of the most mythologized musical figures of the 20th century: The Clash, Bob Marley, Lou Reed—peeling away the veneer between star and audience and exposing the greats as flawed human beings. As the ragged, rebel ethos of the 70s gave way to the corporate pop of the 80s, Bangs lost the myth he’d built a life around and died of a drug overdose in 1982.
“This solo play by Jessica Blank and Erik Jensen (award-winning writers of The Exonerated and Aftermath) adapts Bangs’ writing to chart the life, work and death of one of the 20th century’s most ground-breaking, risk-taking, pioneering voices.”
Oh God, I just read that he was only 33 when he died. Poor slob. Poor genius slob, I should say. I was riveted the entire time. You really should go if you can.
Everywhere I went yesterday the shelves were bare. It was insane, but no one got their regular deliveries so the supermarket shelves were almost completely empty. The storm-shoppers cleaned every place out. I even had trouble buying catfood. Here is something arriving at a meat market (doesn’t help me, I’m a vegetarian).
