NEW YORK CITY: QUEEN OF ENCOUNTERS

I remembered something that has become a bit of my personal philosophy: you have to put yourself into situations for them to come true. I wouldn’t have had this or any number of bizarre and wonderful opportunities without taking the initiative to do it. I wouldn’t have meet Angela Lansbury, Prince Charles wouldn’t have winked at me, I wouldn’t have befriended ladies who live in chateaus or Villefranche apartments. I wouldn’t know British authors that I consider friends or professors in Kenya. I wouldn’t have lost Lady M in Giza and I wouldn’t have Hassan in Luxor. Life is about making it as grand and good as it can. In that moment, looking at the chow and the French bulldogs, I knew that I was exactly where I was meant to be.

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THINGS I LOVED/HATED THIS WEEK #189

I know that what I’m about to relate isn’t real, at least I don’t think it is, but I think that I myself am a plague on the nations I love most. For whatever bizarre reason, when I leave a place after a few weeks of being there and falling madly in love with the culture, a devastating earthquake seems to strike. I was in Turin, Italy last year when there was a minor earthquake that shook the buildings. It spilled some of my wine. Truly a traumatizing moment.

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NEW YORK CITY: Theatre Queens

I was in Villefranche. I was in Paris. I was at home. I was walking through Los Angeles. I was thriving and having something of a spiritual moment as the music washed over me. My eyes got all watery — probably some kind of allergic reaction to the curtains, you know? — and it was magic. I always forget how profound an impact music and stories make on us. This one has been in my life for so many years, and I had grown accustomed to the idea of never having this chance. So to be in that audience having this rare opportunity was a delirious delight. I did not take it lightly at all. 

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NEW YORK CITY: Art Ho in the City

The blizzard was not nearly as severe as all the weather forecasters had predicted, but the fact that I had to suffer in this insufferable way was simply too much for me. Forlornly, I made my way to the little cafe in the lobby of the Jane Hotel. I glowered at the freshly painted walls, signed wistfully at the memory of the Café Gitane’s lost nearness, scowled when I was told that they didn’t have an espresso machine, haughtily accepted drip coffee, and took a seat beside the windows whilst waiting for overpriced avocado toast to arrive. I was insufferable. The toast was actually great. I love a seedy bread. 

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