It Music Frigay

In the early ‘90s Whitney Houston recorded a cover of Steve Winwood’s “Higher Love” that, for whatever reason, got relegated to bonus track status solely on the Japanese release of her album I’m Your Baby Tonight. Recently, however, her estate recruited superproducer Kygo to revive it and bish did he ever!

I first heard the cut last Monday night at a club on Fire Island whilst waiting for a drag performance to start (side note: Wanda Sykes and Tim Bagley were standing behind me) and when the opening notes landed every last queen in the place lost their damn gay mind. Drinks were discarded, chairs were shoved aside and all the little bootie shorts in the place got bouncin’. My little bootie shorts haven’t stopped bouncin’ since.

Have joy, Internet. It Frigay!

This Post Is Being Typed From My Bed in San Francisco, California

I’ve got something like 14 in-the-sky airplane rides on the books in the next few months and thought it might be worthwhile to try and come out on the other side with a functioning liver, so during the flight back to San Francisco today I had zero alcohols. Congratulate me, I’m a hero.

We picked Our Ellie Girl up from Shamrock Ranch this afternoon where she’d been in training for two and a half weeks and I haven’t been more than a few feet away from her since we got in the car and would like to please not be ever, ever again.

I’ve long had a soft spot for personal blogs and one of my favorite personal bloggers is contemplating retirement. I wrote the comment below on her announcement post and believe it would be lovely if you too, whoever you are, would do the same. The Internet needs her. Let her know Corey Lambert sent you.

I wandered here after this site gained mention on kottke.org some while ago and have since spent a fair amount of hours milling about the archives. This blog is wonderful, Kari. Your words are honest and the things you post are interesting. You’ve served up the best of Charles Bukowski and Nora Ephron, you’ve doled out “Summer Kitchen”, “The Dangers of Wisdom” and “Otherwise”, you’ve taught me words like detritus and amuse-bouche and, even though I don’t share your fervor, your selling and reselling of Bruce Springsteen has, at the very least, made me curious. You’ve given grades to your puppy and made a video of snowfall. You’ve sussed out the best parts of podcasts, scrapbooked skillfully-snapped photos of summer days whiled away on a lake I’ll never visit with people I’ll never know and waxed on and on (and on) about New York City, the good, the bad and the Upper West Side. And it’s wonderful, Kari. All of it.

Whatever is good for you is what you should do, but I hope you stick around. It’s nice to have a warm place to steal away when there’s a nip in the air. And to echo the comments above, the Internet will never have enough dog photos. Regardless of what you decide, however, I promise I’ll keep trying with Bruce.

And Know It

For whatever reason 35 feels big to me. I’ve been thinking a lot about it and what I want it, and the time after it, to be, and inside the collection of Mary Oliver poems that I picked up at Tim’s Used Books in Provincetown last week I found a mighty fine answer.

Look, I want to love this world

as though it’s the last chance I’m ever going to get

to be alive

and know it.

NYC VSG

We’ve got an hour before a Long Island Railroad train delivers us to a Sayville taxi that’ll drop us at a Fire Island Pines ferry and I’m gonna borrow some of that hour to recap an incredible two days.

The Very Special Guest from my last post was Kelly who flew all the way from our hometown to New York to celebrate my birth.

Bevan, Sid and I met her at the hotel on Saturday, dumped our bags in the room and crossed the street to see Jeff Daniels in To Kill a Mockingbird. I’m by no means a theater critic and therefore won’t even attempt the adjectives necessary to do the show justice, but I will emoji: 👌🏼🎉👍🏾🥇🙌🏻

The next morning we brunched in the West Village, shopped near Union Square and caught the final performance of The Prom, the latter being one of the best experiences I’ve ever had in a theater and one of the happiest experiences I can remember period. Given the production’s fate, emotions were high and the packed house was game to give it a worthy farewell, us included. B, Kel, Sid and I hooped, hollered and happy-sobbed through the whole thing.

I had expressed during this year’s Tony Awards telecast that I’d been harboring a crush on Brooks Ashmanskas, the male lead in The Prom (a role for which he received a Tony nom), and B told one of our friends about it and as life works out sometimes that friend happens to be friends with Brooks so we ended up sitting in Brooks’ house seats for the show which is kind of the insane-est.

After The Prom we grabbed a quick bite at 5 Napkin Burger in Hell’s Kitchen and Bevan and Sid went back to the room to nap while Kelly and I went on a sunset walk along The High Line.

Margs at Mickey Spillane’s and beers at the hotel bar followed.

Finally, we snagged Sid for some midnight mischief around town.

This morning we all shared a quick breakfast then off Kel went. It was tough not to break down when she climbed into her Lyft, but I felt damn blessed/charmed/golden and all the other words in all the other languages that mean ‘lucky’ to have had her there at all.

P-Town Down, Now New York

This morning, after nine dazzling days spent on the tip of Cape Cod, Bevan, Sid and I took a ferry boat to a Lyft truck to a train car on which we’re currently passing through majestic Mystic, Connecticut on our way to the Big Apple where the three of us and one Very Special Guest will shop, see shows and spend a night on Fire Island with the goal of lowering me ever-so-gently into 35.