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The thing about hearts that love a lot, they just keep breaking. And this time it’s the ease and energy with which I love a lot of stuff a lot – weird, wonderful stuff – that’s doing me in. The last vestige of the big weekend Manhattan Flea Market, known as ‘The Garage", is closing this weekend. Back when I first came to the city in the early 80s, it was a massive outdoor weekly event for me and hundreds of other New Yorkers. In a half-dozen or so parking lots in the heart of

In Uta Hagen’s dramatists’ bible, Respect for Acting, Sir Alec Guinness said he always starts his characters “from the shoes up.” I heard that quote some time ago, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. You see, a little over a month ago, I celebrated (if you can call petulant resignation celebrating) one of those milestone birthdays. Not the “this is the new that” kind of milestone; I’m talking about a “now I get junk mail about catheters” kind of milestone. So, in ad

Whilst I have many annoying memories of Mr. Rooney, I have to say, a lot of Andy’s reasons why he values women over 40 ring true: A woman over forty will never wake you in the middle of the night to ask, “What are you thinking?” She doesn’t care what you think. If a woman over forty doesn’t want to watch the game, she doesn’t sit around whining about it. She does something she wants to do. And, it’s usually something more interesting. A woman over forty knows herself well eno

I have unclean thoughts about Mr. Rogers. I’m not kidding, or trying to be cute. (Who in their right mind would think wanting to mount Mr. Rogers is “adorable”?) I’d like to say it started when I was a little girl, but I’d be lying. Sure, I loved Mr. Rogers back then — and I then also loved Roy Rogers, Jesus Christ, my dog Ruben, David Cassidy, and half of the Monkees. But as I got older, and began viewing males as people I wanted to entrance with my budding feminine arsenal,

A dirty diary, indeed! Read about this scandalous find on my sister site Lost Art of Being a Dame #hotflashes