I'm not the girl who woke up from another one-night-stand. But I could be, in the view from the Sephora [...]
She has just stepped out of her Tribeca branded content office and is leaning against the wall, wondering if she [...]
I am a New York City booster. And I travel its streets with all its positives and negatives crammed [...]
"A short but deeply researched, dark, intense biography... studded with original aperçus about the art of biography, the nature of literary influence, and the importance of place to a writer's sensibility." -- Priscilla Gilman, The Boston Globe
I'm not the girl who woke up from another one-night-stand. But I could be, in the view from the Sephora window. It's raining: The dull Saturday too-early morning pitter-patters against the makeup counters; my nerves, pounding on the exposed brick. I feel like a quasi-well-dressed spy. Partly because "quasi" is the word that won me scrabble last night and partly because my boots are soaked and I smell of the residual cigarette smoke from my boyfriend's roommate. Nothing like emanating your least favorite odor to heighten your senses -- this morning I have the sensitivity of a pregnant woman. This morning, I know why New York used to be called the Big Onion.
The weather has also been in an incredible flux between the harshest winter and the muggiest spring, so I'm keeping a tally of the distinct smells we carry. The lanky man in a stained, striped, shirt next to me on the subway smelled like weed. The big-haired Jersey Shore extra next to him had a mixed Victoria's Secret scent that only comes from spraying one too many times. It's humbling to be part of the odorous majority.read more...