A Million Little Failures: On James Frey’s Next to Heaven

I went to the launch party for James Frey’s Next to Heaven mostly to see Carole Radziwill. In the eight years that I’ve lived in New York, I’ve never seen any of our “Real Housewives” in person, despite being alert to the possibility — despite remaining hopeful that it will happen — whenever I’m on the Upper East Side for a doctor appointment, or at Balthazar for someone’s birthday dinner, or find myself walking by Zarin Fabrics. I’m sure if I spent more time in these kinds of well-heeled spaces, it would inevitably happen.

The Magic Eye: On the Art (and Life) of Joan Mitchell

A couple years ago, I got the idea that I should spend a week in Paris by myself. Considering I have a boyfriend who could have gone with me and that, perhaps more pertinently, I don’t speak French, the decision was confusing to a handful of people I know. I was satisfied by my own reasoning for the trip — I wanted to travel alone, to be in a situation in which I’m entirely out of my element, at least once while I’m young. Also, JetBlue had a sale. Still, I could read the awkwardness in their eyes, the real questions not being asked, when they’d look at me and carefully go, “So… what are you going to do there?” Really, what I wanted to do there was see the Joan Mitchell paintings at the Centre Pompidou.