When the Metropolitan Museum of Art announced at the end of July that its spring Costume Institute exhibit would honor the work of John Galliano, I was a little shocked but not all that surprised. A little shocked because I didn't realize the Met was in the business
This is the time of summer when I inevitably start fantasizing about the pleasures of autumn. That's especially the case this year: I think we can agree that, no matter where you are in the world, it's been a summer to inspire autumnal longing. Between the
Grief takes you to odd places. This week, it took me to the cover of GQ's September issue. The actor Jeremy Strong is on it because he's playing Mark Zuckerberg in the upcoming sequel to The Social Network (who asked for this?). According to The New
I write this week from the bottom of a deep well of grief. On Saturday morning we had to say goodbye to Cal. Cal was my dog for 15 years. But to say that doesn't really do him justice, or tell the whole story. I don't
Since I dedicated last week's newsletter to Regarding Henry, Harrison Ford's (arguably) worst movie, I'm dedicating this week's post, the last of Harrison Ford Month, to his (arguably) best movie. As with his worst movie, I had a hard time deciding what
According to IMDb, Harrison Ford has 87 acting credits to his name. Any actor is bound to appear in a stinker or two*, especially over the course of such a long career. When I decided to dedicate this week's newsletter to one of Harrison's worst movies,
When we talk about the physical appearance of movie stars, it's often within the context of what doesn't appear. Namely, discernible flaws. Scars, veins, cysts, enlarged pores, the pitted ghosts of teenage acne—the only place those have in Hollywood is on character actors.* But Harrison
The nice thing about having a newsletter—and arguably the only reason to have one—is that you get to write about anything you want. And that is why I've decided that the rest of July is Harrison Ford Month at the Marx-Ennui Reader. July, after all,
One of the things I like most about being laid off from a food publication is that I'm no longer expected to have an opinion about The Bear. I watched the show's first season with both fervor and admiration; the second with more admiration than fervor;
A couple of weeks ago my friend Kathryn asked me, "What's up with all the frozen yogurt here?" I'm paraphrasing because I can't remember exactly how she posed the question. But I do remember the look of real concern on her face.
It has been ten months and ten days since I was laid off from Eater. During that time I have applied for more jobs than I can remember; gotten a grand total of two actual interviews and one (unpaid) edit test that took me three days to complete; been ghosted
Last week I did what I do every couple of years or so and re-watched A Room With a View. I first watched the movie in high school, several years after it came out in 1985. Its effect on me was that of a lit match on gasoline: it
I took a break from this newsletter last week because I was getting my author photo taken. As someone who loathes being photographed I was more or less dreading the experience, but the photographer was wonderful and I'm happy. Before getting my photo taken I spent time looking
Something that I used to have to think about more or less all the time when I was still employed in food media was the question of what was best. The best bakery, the best restaurant, the best bar, the best all-day cafe, the best bagel/pizza/breakfast sandwich/
I'm a bit out of sorts right now. To explain why would be tedious for all of us. That said, I can assign some of my mood to this Monday's Met Gala, or more precisely the act of looking at pictures of it. Obscene wealth, when
Last week my friend Zoe texted me with sad news: The Islands, a Brooklyn restaurant specializing in Caribbean food, had closed. It was a beloved, unassuming spot on Washington Avenue, a mom-and-pop shop with a legendarily relaxed vibe that translated to unpredictable delivery times. I last went there
If you didn't know that Lena Dunham just published a new memoir (her second), then you probably weren't reading the New York Times last week. In the space of approximately 24 hours, the Grey Lady churned out a review, a David Marchese interview*, a think piece,
When I finally gave in and bought a Criterion Channel subscription a couple of years ago, I readied myself for a steady diet of what a friend once referred to as broccoli movies, meaning movies that are good for you. Obscure European art house cinema, Golden Age Hollywood gems, the
When I was younger, I prided myself at not being a cryer. I didn't cry at movies, didn't cry over songs or commercials, except that one Sarah McLachlan did for the ASPCA. Crying in front of other people felt like an indignity, an unwelcome confession of
This Monday, my editor sent out the first blurb requests for my novel Small Kingdoms, which is scheduled to be published next June. I was cc'd on the requests, and their appearance in my inbox invoked equal parts excitement and anxiety. Because to me, this marked the moment
Twelve days ago, I turned 50 years old. It is surreal to write those words. I don't feel 50, but then I don't know what one is supposed to feel like at 50. When I was a child, 50 was 100. When I was 30, it
I belong to that subset of masochists who watch the Oscars beginning to end, year after year without fail. I once even found a way to watch when I was staying at a youth hostel in New Zealand, which was no small feat in the days before smartphones. I do
A brief weekly round-up of some good things this week. Some (spot-on) thoughts about the fancy-bathhouse trend. The Angelika Film Center was named after an actual woman named Angelika Saleh. Unfortunately she just passed, but this story about her is fascinating. I'm a big Rufi
I am very late to the Heated Rivalry party, and that is because I resisted it until last week. On paper, the tale of two gay hockey players is tailor-made for me; there's a reason my friend Gautam likes to call me a fruit fly.** But in