After being raised by wolves on Staten Island I was left tone deaf
and color blind. Thankfully congenital homosexuality has corrected
most of those deficiencies over time, but my cultural and artistic
choices are often brought to question.
* * *
I'm in a book club (blush) and a little concerned that my favorite
books have all started with dead people resting on beds of plush,
beautiful writing: Let the Great World Spin (Callum MCallun);
Tinker (Paul Harding); Being Dead (Jim Crace); The Bridge of San
Luis Ray (Thornton Wilder). I loved Patti Smith's "Just Kids", but
Robert doesn't die until the end, so I put that in a different
category. And Cormac McCarthy's books too -- people die all over
the place, so its like an action flick; completely different.
* * *
Much to the despair of all my friends, I am simply unable to pick a
movie that doesn't include a $100M budget and ungodly amounts of
explosions. I think my more sophisticated choices have been Kung Fu
Panda, How to Train Your Dragon, and The Incredibles. Yes, they are
cartoons. I know. But so good!
I still love almost anything by Almodovar or Kubrick or Miyazaki,
and occasionally stumble across tasteful work. I just saw Amour;
good grief, that's why I watch kid's flicks.
* * *
My music collection is where people really start to wince.
Somewhere between First Aid Kit and Perfume Genius I'm declared a
suicidal lesbian. I still think Bob Dylan and Nina Simone are
Food. Now that is serious stuff. I've undertaken the responsibility
to eat everything delicious in NYC, and to do it frequently. I
really like wearing bow ties at restaurants with lots of Michelin
stars, but I like it more when there is a secret amazing food court
in the basement of a cracked out Flushing mall where nobody speaks