It will surprise no one, honestly, to look back on my many years of celebrity boyfriends and realize I have actually been trying to date the same specific imaginary person this whole time. To all my future husbands:I love his nose, I love his beautiful hands and wrists, I love his hair and I love how inescapably Jewish he is, no matter what his ( Read more... )

I'm back! I'm catching up! Only three more until I'm on top of it, again? (We're in Week 7 of the year, according to my planner. What? Look how much faster we're getting older these days.)

This essay has been on my mind for several weeks now. It's called Household, and it's about absorbing my childhood home into my adult apartment, and the stories ( Read more... )

Okay, now I'm only one behind! So expect another soon, probably. But for now, in my ongoing essay series about depression stuff: You'll never know, a story about a suckerpunch I got at the end of my improv career. This one I'm not sharing directly on Facebook, as I'm still friends with a lot of the people discussed, including the coach.All I was ( Read more... )

If you want to see pictures of that store I wrote up this morning, plus a reflection/personal essay on getting into and out of spaces, I just posted "Portal fantasy, Williamsburg, Brooklyn" to
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To everyone who wanted me to write up my "fuck you, Ask Polly" feelings, I did: Our Lady of Broken Pheromones.I like existentialism. I like the idea that what we have is our actions, here and now, not in some imagined hereafter. But Polly didn’t, if I may be a bit French about it, answer the fucking question, even if she’s wildly sure that she did.
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I've been chewing on this essay for about five weeks now, and it's finally live at
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New piece up on
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So you know all that rebranding stuff I was nattering on about before?


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Well, there's a wind chill advisory until tomorrow afternoon, and the present temperature is "20F, feels like 5F," which, for those of you in Celsius-land, is generally fucking hideous. So I've gone into Clean All the Things! mode, which is helpful in so many ways, from the fact that I get a guest next weekend (:-DDDD!!) to "oh wow, it really is ( Read more... )

I just found out that Mutsu apples, the most perfect of all apples, are also called Crispins here in New York. I've been walking by huge crates of Crispins at the bodega near my train station every day; I thought they looked the same, but I didn't want my heart to get broken by expecting a Mutsu and getting something weird and mealy, like that ( Read more... )