I’m a huge advocate of crossing a bridge every day by foot. When I’m depressed I can’t do anything much, can’t do a proper work out or cook a meal or read or write, but I can always manage to cross a bridge. In London this means walking from my place in South East into town across Waterloo Bridge to go to therapy or the library, and in New York I like going from Clinton Hill across the Manhattan Bridge, usually just to go into Lovely Day thai cafe and eat something and turn right back around. Better than nothing!!
A once- favoured first date spot which I overused and now only go to alone, either to smoke furiously in the yard if in a mood about something, or to watch Jeopardy at the bar with the bartender and other strays
Everyone who loves Sibylle Baier really loves Sibylle Baier. If you go on a date and the other person is also a Sibylle fan then you have to fall in love. She’s this amazing German folk singer who made recordings in the 1970s which were only released in 2006. Her song Colour Green is the best song to walk sadly across bridges to, in my opinion.
I met Daniel in the first days of February in The Library on Avenue A and within a few hours knew he would be in my life until I die, if I have any say in the matter. Not for about twenty years have I met a human being I instantly knew would be a best friend, and it’s been a humbling joyous experience I can barely describe. He and I have no off button, and the only downside of our union is that every time we hang out we do not go to bed until 6am because there is just so much to discuss. Strongly recommend befriending Daniel if you have the chance, I laugh aloud with pure jubilance every time I lay eyes on this guy.
A friend took me to see this Danish/ Icelandic film at the IFC in March and it blew our minds. It’s been a long time since I’ve sat in a theater and realized with each passing scene that I was watching something truly original and great which will come to be known as a masterpiece (tbf this is mostly my fault because when I’m tired which is all the time I only want to watch bougie sub-Baumbach dramedies about marriage or having a gay kid or whatever). It’s about a priest in the 19th century traveling from Denmark to a remote Icelandic island to establish a church and the morally and physically degrading journey he has to endure to get there, unable to communicate with his guide Ragnar, but really it defies all narrative summary and just needs to be seen.
This is a debut novel by a hugely talented Irish writer about a teenage girl in 1960s New York who ends up working in Warhol’s Factory, transcribing taped conversations destined to be collated into an experimental novel. It’s weird and wild and extremely funny and sad, perfect for anyone used to wandering around a glamorous city feeling like a lumpen freak.
I’m unbearable about karaoke. In my place in London it is functionally impossible to come round and have drinks without me at some point insisting it’s karaoke time. I’m a show off cause I believe I should have been a famous singer but was prevented by a tragic lack of any actual musical ability except a nice singing voice which I am steadily destroying with cigs. My current standards are Nothing Compares 2 U by Sinead O’Connor and You Got It by Roy Orbison
I’m sensitive in every way and get mysterious allergic reactions to lots of stuff which bums me out cause I look all red and raw and ugly for weeks. The only things I can rely on are Avene products, once recommended to me by a Greek pharmacist in Athens who appraised me and said “This will make her less sad,” the “her” being my wretched face.