Magic Carpet Ride
Shopping on Ambien reaps unexpected rewards
By Susan Braudy
Gentle reader, I’m a late night shopper. The computer’s a magic carpet that flies me to Osaka, Kyoto and other parts of the faraway country of Japan. I can almost hear Joe Weintraub snoring next to me as I journey. He’s thankfully unable to protest my taste in world-class designs, woven on antique silk kimono fabric. The patterned treasures I look at are “un-picked” from the kimonos by Japanese women who love the forest, Shibori and ocean wave patterns as much as I do. Read more
My Philip Roth
Laughing till I can’t breathe with the great American novelist
By Susan Braudy
Philip Roth is a street treasure. We see him strolling 57th Street and the Upper West Side. The only place to begin a short rumination about him is with a priceless quote from the greatest American novel of the last century:
“She was so deeply imbedded in my consciousness that for the first year of school I seem to have believed that each of my teachers was my mother in disguise. Read more
Thoughts on ‘The English Vice’
New York needs a more European approach when it comes to sexuality
By Susan Braudy
I recently read that Christopher Hitchens’ upcoming memoir tells of his passionate love affairs with boys in boarding school in England. No big deal for the now-married, smart-as-a-whip pundit and gray eminence.
Have we missed the boat? I think so. Read more
Gold Is Beautiful
Musing race complexities in the age of Obama
By Susan Braudy
Years ago, I took the A train to Harlem to speculate about living in a refurbished brownstone with thick walls. But that night I dreamed about losing my long view up Central Park and awoke homesick.
In Harlem, I strolled into the Studio Museum on 125th Street, one of the first to give artists workspaces. I love the hard-edged, locally-made African designs on bark cloth in the museum shop. This street pulsates like no other. Strangers laugh together. Six women teased me into buying a hat with a wire brim that the vendor twisted into every style (honestly). Back home, I couldn’t work the hat’s magic. It sulkily awaits a prince’s kiss to revive its mojo. Read more
The Best Film You Never Saw
Have you read about the “Cinderella” novel that, after three years of rejections from publishers and agents, just won the Pulitzer?
Well, I’m dying to nominate the totally hypnotic movie Who Do You Love for an Academy Award. Alas, I can’t. Every story doesn’t get a happy ending.
And I wish I could review a couple movie reviewers (they run in packs like wolves, producing almost identical reviews), including the New York Times’ Stephen Holden. Read more
Starbucks Sucks
Guns stink. Children kill children. Police kill innocent people who appear to be brandishing guns.
Hooray for Mayor Bloomberg, who urges our president to start enforcing gun laws. I contribute money to the Brady campaign to end gun violence. Google it.
You put guns in people’s hands, they use them. Is this somehow our Wild West fixation? Europeans know we’re crazy when it comes to guns. Why aren’t Second Amendment gun crazies strict constitutionalists when it comes to amendments guaranteeing rights for women and minorities? Read more
Behold the Humble Mutt
Who could begrudge Sadie the scottie her hotdog treat for winning Westminster this year? I think her silky coat and expressive eyebrows are spectacular.
But remember Bill Maher’s question: When will we start shooting bankers? In the same vein, I ask you, gentle reader, when will we start shooting dog breeders? Or regulating their quest for gorgeous glowing coats and facial shapes at the expense of a pup’s health and lifespan? Read more
Dissecting New York’s ‘Livability’
I’m twitching. I’m poring over some 100 pages of the Economist’s assiduously researched rankings of the world’s most livable cities. Phheww!
I can’t believe the venerable Economist ranks us 56th in livability out of 140 world cities. It turns out that Detroit (ranking 40) and Cleveland (ranking 44) and Chicago (ranking 32) are better places to live than Manhattan.
Do they seriously believe that Detroit has better ethnic restaurants than the likes of our beloved Greek wonder Kefi? Or a great city magazine like New York? Read more
Melissa Works Her Magic
Before I actually know I’m frightened, my gut tightens, my palms itch. Yes, like you, gentle reader, I’m cursed and blessed—each of us is in our own way—with the old mind-body connection.
And now I’ve undergone a change in my life that I want to share with you. It starts with Melissa Tiers, clinical hypnotist extraordinaire, who puts me in her chair, takes my measure and teaches me self-hypnosis, soothing and healing my brain and feelings as if she’s re-wiring me with a new nervous system. Read more
Reunioning, My Way
Gentle reader, your diarist hates going to reunions of any kind—unwilling to measure the sadistic passing of time by smudges under familiar eyes, or to get trapped by well meaning semi-strangers making small talk.
So despite strict orders from one good friend from the Philadelphia High School for Girls (I tease her that I think of her as “Napoleon”), I never for a moment considered attending the recent reunion at a slick hotel in Philly. I did write a quick essay for the reunion website about my happy memories. I added one sentence about my clueless reaction to an event that took place freshman year. It seems that three of my friends had sex with a youngish, substitute (male) science teacher. One of the three girls told me about it right before French class. Instead of answering her, I opened my textbook and began reading. Read more
