All My Friends Are Turtles: The Unpublished Journals of April O’Neil

Okay, that’s it: I am not hanging out with the turtles this week. No matter how lonely I get. I need to spur myself to make some other friends, and yes, to meet some men. I am never going to meet anybody hanging out in the sewer all the time. I’m going to sit here, and I’m going to just be alone. I’m going to feel this loneliness and acknowledge it, and not run away from it. This is your life, April. Own up to it. Continue reading “All My Friends Are Turtles: The Unpublished Journals of April O’Neil”

While I’m At Work, and You Are Home Alone This Summer

Never answer the door. No matter how many times somebody knocks, or what they say – I don’t care if they say they have a package, or ice cream, or a check for a million dollars – do NOT under any circumstances open the door. Even if they say they are me – don’t answer the door! I don’t care if they sound precisely like me, or if, when you look through the keyhole, they look exactly like me. Perhaps they took a voice-training class and learned to emulate my voice perfectly, and then took a photo of me and photoshopped it so that it looks like I’m standing on the front stoop, and then resized it so that it would fit over the lens of the peephole, so that when you look out, it looks like me really standing there, but really it’s a photo taped to the peephole with a voiceover master standing behind it who wants to do you harm, and you open the door and suddenly, bam! They’re in the house.  Continue reading “While I’m At Work, and You Are Home Alone This Summer”

Marcel Proust, Travel Writer

On Italy

I read a book about Rome once. I was a child of seven, and I was looking through my grandmother’s bookcase. Well do I remember the smell of Grandmother’s house: talcum powder and slightly moldering carpets. Grandmother had a vast collection of books about far-away and wonderful places. Rome attracted my attention because of its connotation in my mind with gladiators and emperors and columns, all strapping and assertive things. I remember the photos of the Trevi fountain, photos of busy sidewalk cafes, photos of ruins under a setting sun…  Continue reading “Marcel Proust, Travel Writer”

I’m A Sucker For Arts

Oh, don’t give me those big eyes. I know, I know, you’re just as original and innovative as you can be, aren’t you? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!

I just love art, but I sponsor too much as it is. Harold has forbidden me from going to theatres and gallery openings and benefits, because he says I’m just too big a softy. But I can’t help it – I wish that I could take all the art in the world home with me. Continue reading “I’m A Sucker For Arts”

Spring Wardrobe Purge

Having nothing else to do this past weekend, and feeling a little cluttered, I decided to tackle one of those back-burner projects and weed through my wardrobe. Time to toss the things I really haven’t worn in a year…or two…or five. I’m not a snazzy dresser – I’m very much a jeans-and-T-shirt kind of girl – and I’m amazed by the sorts of things that I’ll occasionally acquire, never wear, and hang onto for years. Why do I keep them? Do I secretly think they’re really awesome? In what circumstances would I ever, ever actually don such garments and leave the house? No more. Continue reading “Spring Wardrobe Purge”