Art speaks the truth
Little House in the Big Woods
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Early days
It's been like the first days of a school year—with clothes that feel starchy and bright, and careful courtesy to and from the teacher. There are no fingerprints on the walls of our new apartment, and we are fastidious about returning our belongings to their places and sponging up spills and fixing small breakages. We wear bright, somewhat artificial smiles to greet our super and doormen and neighbors. We are nice to the max. It feels a little phony, but we want to start off on the right foot. Or the left foot. Or whatever foot everyone else uses. We want to march in sweet synchrony. There are moments of euphoria as Other and I remark to each other on the profound silence, which continues to stun us two months after leaving the cacophany of NoHo. I sometimes wonder if anyone else actually lives here, it's so quiet in the wee hours—no 3 a.m. revelers screeching beneath our window, no drunken cell-phone breakups broadcast into our bedroom, no bass beats booming through...
Best word ever
I recently learned a new word, and I’ve been trying to share it with friends who complain about their aging brains. When I try to tell them, it’s on the tip of my tongue but insanely hard to bring to mind until the moment has passed: Lethologica: Inability to remember a particular word or name
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