How It All Began

Goddess Twiggy: Lookin as clueless as I felt …

Photograph: Barry Lategan

He was the football captain. The lead of every musical. Coveted by my girlfriends. He — who went “all the way” — or so they said — with the hottest, fastest “hood” in senior year. He was tall. He was dark. He was oh so handsome. Yeah yeah yeah. But it was that bad boy thing that drew me in. He danced with me just once in junior year, gave me a twirl, and promptly cast me aside. But I would think of that embrace each night. This time? As we approached the end of senior year? No “almost” — I’m going for it. I had nothing to lose. I am asking him to the Prom and I am gonna win him.

I was a “B” girl in high school. Come on. You know how that is. Plenty “cute” — but I was a little odd — even then — not in A circles. And he … he was an A+.

We went to the prom. I remember wearing as much guck in my hair as I did on my face, my twiggy eyes, my all-over. Oh yeah, I went all the way.

And it worked. I won him. That very first night.

“I was a “B” in High School. Come on. You know how that is ... And he ... he was an A+”

We were “together” for four years. We went steady, we got “pinned”— please, does anybody remember getting “pinned?” And I wore his engagement ring. He went off to an Ivy League School majoring in economics. I am yawning as I write this. And me? I went off to art school — and by year three, I would fantasize about him getting shipped to Vietnam so I could be free of him. Nice. He wanted to go. He wanted to “save our country.” And he was increasingly concerned about my shift in dress, in thoughts, in interests.

And he should have been. I broke up with him two weeks before our wedding “event” at the local Wayne Manor. I broke his heart in my little VW with the WHO in the background screaming I’M FREE while I gave him the news. And I can so remember trying to repress the feeling of exhilaration as that poor boy was losing his shit. He went off to Vietnam. And I went off to get happily radicalized.

What felt like winning on Prom night soured pretty quickly. But the feeling in that VW as I broke free from a life I did not want has felt like winning every day since — it was the start of my life as a Glorious Broad.

"I Can Still Gussy Up"

QUEEEEEEEN

That was the line that slayed me — Lena Horne swanning on to the stage — right before her last Broadway show at The Nederlander. My heart stops just thinking about that moment. 

Wrapped in a floor length midnight blue clingy number — arms out — giving us all a big ole sexy hug.
I was a kid then — and she to got me — and the rest of the panting audience — hook line and sinker.

And now, 39 years later, I understand that smirk, I understand her knowin’ she was killin’ it, I understand her relishing these years of being able to slay.

Broadway — I thrived on the tradition of those nights. Lena was a must see! And after curtain: such fun scoring the right table at Joe Allen’s — milking the martinis — or better yet — squatting at the bar, swapping boozy critiques — was it over-hyped — did it transform you — even for a moment?

Lena transformed me. Cherry Jones transformed me. Eileen Atkins transformed me.

Glorious Broads all.

I was in the middle of a massive clean out of my studio today. Gotta happen. It’s a disaster.

And I am about to trash the Playbill for Lena’s  “The Lady and Her Music.”

I’m sobbing as I throw out these relics … for Broadway … for a very different life we will probably not be able to recreate. Post COVID. Or at the very least — it won’t be “the same” now — will it? Not in my lifetime …

And — I’m amusing myself with a new little fantasy — that I might be Lena — recreate HER … ’cause I too can still gussy up … and fuck it, I just may take up crooning. We have the time now, don’t we?

WARDROBE!!!!

Girl Crush Gone Wild!

An RIP to Betty Dodson — the original urban Cowgirl

I found Betty Dodson writing her column for Bust Magazine. She was hilarious. She was naughty. She was ballsy. I have continued to follow her, to worship her …

BUT

I never made the call. I never picked up the god damn phone to ask her for an interview for Glorious Broads. I kept putting it off. Can there be a BETTER Glorious Broad? I will have to let that go and forgive my ass.

Last night, I stayed up way too late after driving myself insane following the ILLEGAL (!) VOTE COUNT — then started reading Betty’s piece “Getting to Know Me” — about her sex life and the love affair she was having with HERSELF for Ms. Magazine in 1974. She wrote an 18 page story that had to be edited down to three. BUT if readers wanted the full version, they could mail a $3 check and receive her complete manifesto “Liberating Masturbation.” There was, however, a slight problem. NOTHING WAS WRITTEN. She didn’t even have a bank account … all she had was the title. She hustled, delivered the goods, mailing each copy with “an orgasm” — and — surprise — it kicked ass. The rest is history: Random House bought the rights and her best seller “Sex for One” was born. NOW THAT IS FUCKIN’ GLORIOUS.

And that is why she is the ultimate Glorious Broads, readers.

Always a happy ending with Betty. Here with Carlin Ross

“One of my peak sexual times was in my 70’s — living with a 20 something-year-old for nearly a decade. What a body.”

I’ve read many pieces about her since she left the planet Saturday, a favorite anecdote: One of her best sexual times was in her 70’s (she died at 91) — when she was living with a 20-something-year-old stud for nearly a decade. I MEAN … that gives me lots to look forward to.

And I will.

I will not only continue to have a CRUSH on Betty, but will practice what she preached. I am happy sexually — but why not be ECSTATIC sexually? My homage to Betty. Reaching out to dodsonandross for a Bodysex workshop.  Watch out for the spring in my step! Never too late baby!

"I Feel Optimism — But I Guard My Heart."

3 Activists, from 66 to 99, weigh in — and act out — on BLM

Elizabeth White — front and center

Photo: David Sampy

Sure, Glenn Beck is an ass. Even so, my jaw dropped when he said, “I would rather have my children stay home and have all of us who are over 50 go in and keep this economy going and working, Even if we all get sick, I’d rather die than kill the country.” As a friend said at the time: “You first, Glenn.” Alas, it ain’t just Fox-types. Last month Forbes gave a “whew” that the elderly death toll was much higher than for the “working age” populace. Uh huh. And who are we talking about here? Who are these “elderlies?” We are all one big dis-empowered group of fragile old farts. It’s how all the “isms” work — lump ’em all together.

So. It’s official. We’re invisible? As if. For starters, we’re running the country (although I do not want us to take credit for that shit show.) But what about, in contrast, Mary Jo Laupp, the #TikTok Grandma whose impact on Trump’s first Oklahoma conference caused utter and delicious chaos — empty arena much?

This piece pulled its own switcharoo — chatting with Glorious pal, Héctor Lionel, we wanted initially to do a pictorial of the 60+ crowd who had to skip the demonstrations for health reasons. What I found: vital, involved, fascinating political creatures bringing their own history, lessons and know-how to the movement. They needed to be heard — and seen.

ELIZABETH WHITE, 66

Elizabeth’s sophisticated mind is a delicious combination of scrappy, wise, confident, worldly. She’s a member of my Glorious Broads clan. I fell in insta-love with her in-your-faceness at The Atlantic’s New Old Age conference. We keep up via A Tribe Called Ageing — her online think-tank she co-hosts that remains my mid-week highlight. A Zoom that doesn’t suck? She’s that good. Also a published author and TEDTalk star, Ebeth covers aging and financial insecurity. Plenty to talk about these days, obvs.

Elizabeth has been out demonstrating — not leading chants but, like so many of us, exploring options for what’s next. Wondering about what you can do to further Black Lives Matter? Leave it to Elizabeth to show us the bricks …

WERE YOU AN ACTIVIST IN THE 60s?I think I was more of a good girl. You know, do my work, get a job, be responsible. I was that person.

AND NOW YOU HAVE BLOSSOMED INTO A BADASS RABBLE-ROUSER… I guess I have. (laughs)

TELL ME ABOUT YOU IN THE ‘60s…I was coming back to the states at 16 after being abroad for a long time — entering the middle of “I’m Black and I’m proud.”

WERE YOU DISAPPOINTED WHEN YOU RETURNED — OR THRILLED?Well, I grew up as a dark-skinned black girl and then a black woman. I thought everyone saying “Black is Beautiful” would welcome and embrace me. But some residual elements from the past were still in play — old internalized racism — colorism.

But I also saw the movement was important, pushing against convention. Like that was the first time that there was a public acceptance of hair for example. Texture. All of that.

So, I was on my own inward journey to find my footing in a world that was not accepting of me and finding my footing within the black community as well.

HOW DOES WHAT HAPPENED IN THE BLACK MOVEMENT THEN RELATE TO NOW?I have lived through segregation, integration, affirmative action, diversity, inclusion, and equity. What does inclusion really mean? That if you behave yourself you’ll be invited into the circle. So what does behave yourself mean? When you get into the circle, you will be as invested as everyone else to maintain the status quo. And we understand that as women, and I understand that as a black person. You can be in that room and be no more than a decoration.

What I see happening now is a pushing against those boundaries.

WHAT DOES THIS PUSHING LOOK LIKE?Black generals traditionally would never speak out about what they encountered moving up through the ranks. Black executives who get into that inner sanctum — now they are beginning to speak out about the cost of being in there. A number of black friends in organizations are being asked by senior executives, “What should we do?” And they are trying to weigh the balance — can they be candid without consequences? Or are they expected to not rock the boat …

’Cause I think one of the things in our DNA — a long time ago we learned not to antagonize the person with the whip. And it takes some skill to get the person who has the whip to put it down by their side — and then to drop it to the ground.

In any interracial setting — black people are always doing that calculus. Now — people are prepared to take more risk, to be more confrontational.

WITH THE NEW GENERATION — ARE THEY THINKING ABOUT THE WHIP?Depends on the age. 80% of people over 65 are white — with Gen Z, 52% are white. 48% are not. They acknowledge the whip, and have willingness to join together. This is very different from when we were coming up.

Older white people have a posture of helping — “we’re gonna help you” — but the young white kids are putting their bodies on the line. Getting thrown out because they can’t support their parents’ racist views. White young people getting in front of black people to protect them from advancing police. It’s not “I wanna help you” — it’s “I am as invested in the outcome as you are.”

SO THIS MUST GIVE YOU HOPE …I feel optimism — but I guard my heart.

WHY ARE YOU GUARDED?There is so much work to do — and there will be cost. And casualties. Consequences. Will people have the stamina? Will white people keep going?

But hope: The size of the crowds in Portland. And the brigade of mothers and grandmothers that were coming out in droves.

I GET CHILLS …You are messing with their kids — and they’re getting pepper sprayed and tear gassed. In this moment color has been pulled off inequality — 50 million people have filed for unemployment. Since early April. 50 million people.

SO ARE YOU OUT THERE NOW? IN THE MIDDLE OF THINGS?I just had to go. I went to 3. I had my mask on. My gloves. As an older person I had to be on the edge ’cause — I’m fit enough but I can’t run like these kids do.

As a black woman, to see all of these people holding up Black Lives Matter signs — I mean you can’t — this is for me? This is for my grandson? This is …

Occasionally I would see another older black woman and we would lock eyes — it would be — can you believe that this is happening? For us? Look around …

SO IT’S NOT THE SAME FIGHT AS IT WAS IN THE 60s, IS IT?It feels … different. One of the days I saw a Black man with three teenage boys. He was pointing to things, educating them — like the vents that they put in Lafayette park covered with signs. He’s talking to these young brothers about what they are reading.

I’M LOSING IT …You go down there and it has a bit of a festive feeling — and that’s why I say — it’s no longer a sprint — it’s going to be a marathon. And then figuring out how I — what do I want to do.

AND WHAT DO YOU WANT AS AN ACTIVIST?At our age, we’re not gonna be on the front line. So what I have been thinking about and acting on is the brick I am throwing. We use bricks to tear down and we use bricks to build.

“I’d see another older black woman and we’d lock eyes — can you believe this is happening? For us?”

SO WHAT’S YOUR BRICK?I have some friends who wanted to buy a building — a black owned business. I said — let me help you figure this out. I have a network. This is my offering. Something concrete I can do from where I am sitting.

Like the orthodontist who fixed a protestor’s teeth for free after they were knocked out by a police baton.

Like white women who stand and witness when police cars pull over black people. They tell the police they’re trying to make sure people don’t get murdered.

Like the billionaire Bill Ackman who partnered with black and minority banks on a 4-billion dollar deal. Those black owned banks would not normally be into that kind of deal.

That’s the brick he threw.

So wherever you are, whatever your sphere of influencers is — you may think — this is so big. My contribution is so puny. But it isn’t.

YES. YOU CAN FEEL OVERWHELMED.Yes. Systematic racism has enforcers, enablers, vetters — all those are people. To the extent you can call out an enabler, call out an enforcer — you’re challenging them.

WE ALL NEED TO FIGURE OUT OUR BRICKS …Don’t think of systemic racism as just this amorphous thing. You may not be able to get to the Governor but you may be able to get to somebody else. Think about your sphere — your network — your abilities. You see this happening. Are you willing to be uncomfortable? Are you willing to speak out when you see something?

YOU ARE NOT FEELING DISMISSED BECAUSE OF YOUR AGE? YOU’RE FEELING VERY EMPOWERED…Oh yeah.

SO — THE PASSING OF THE BATON, ARE YOU IN THAT PHASE WHERE YOU ARE THINKING ABOUT THAT?I don’t feel like this is my time. Our time.

These young people are on the front lines. And I don’t mean to be wrestling with them for the baton. I am thinking about how can I advance things here — what is my role.

WHAT WOULD YOU SAY IS YOUR LEGACY AT THIS MOMENT IN OUR LIVES?I want to get back to the conversation about inclusion. If we are inviting people to basically come in and not rock the boat — how do we address that the status quo is harmful? It is part of the barriers and the drawbridge being rolled up. It is presented — oh, diversity and inclusion are good, we got three of this and four of that and two of this. But it doesn’t matter if — when you bring people in, they cannot actually say anything different than is already there. I want to be in on that deep conversation for our future.

That’s all she wants …

Photos: Chae Kihn

SHATZI WEISBERGER, 90

Shatzi’s fierceness became crystal clear to me when I read this 90-year-old celebrated her birthday demonstrating for Black Lives Matter. Despite Covid-19 and using a wheely, she tries to make 2 demonstrations a week. And she’s no stranger to mixing it up — a nurse during the AIDS epidemic, on the front lines most of her life as a “Dyke Opposed to Nuclear Technology,” an anti-Zionist and a life-long activist fighting against redlining — nothing keeps her down. Welcome to Shatzi’s world — where age and curfews are nothing but a number.

SO YOU BROKE THE “ELDERLY” RULES — BROKE CURFEW — AND WENT OUT ON THE STREETS TO SUPPORT BLACK LIVES MATTER …That’s right. I didn’t leave the house for the first 2 weeks after the pandemic hit. My neighbors would buy me food from a list I’d give them. I’d venture out eventually, staying within the inner courtyard of my complex. After about 2 more weeks, I decided to do my own marketing. And I kept saying — I don’t want to live the rest of my life like this — but I feel like I’m stuck in it.

But when the protests started, I felt just trying to protect my own health when police were doing their killing and getting away with it was reason to take the risk. I affixed my Black Lives Matter sign to my walker, put on my PPE and wheeled out into the streets.

BUT WHAT ABOUT THE DANGERS OF COVID-19 — ESPECIALLY FOR YOUR “AGE GROUP?”As a nurse for 47 years, I know all too well we must do everything we can to curb the pandemic. I’d say 99.9% of us wear face masks at the demonstrations. And we’re outdoors which provides more protection. So I feel comfortable with that.

But I can tell you, I’m very grateful that I am not working as a nurse these days. Not to have proper protection gear?? Disgraceful …

DO YOU PARTICIPATE IN DEMONSTRATIONS SOLO, OR WITH FELLOW ACTIVISTS?Mostly, I’ve been going out alone with one exception — some friends had a car and live in lower Manhattan. And when they picked me up it was the first time I actually protested past the curfew!

OH WASN’T THAT YOUR BIRTHDAY? HAPPY BIRTHDAY!I’ve been celebrating my birthday for weeks now (laughs) — but it has been the best way to bring in my 90th!

WOULD YOU SAY YOU ARE OUT THERE A FEW TIMES A WEEK?Oh yeah. I get emails every day about various protests. So if there is something I can do in terms of location, in terms of time — I’m doing it.

DO YOU WORK WITH YOUNGER FOLKS A LOT?It’s a very young movement. Usually, I’m the only old person there. Maybe once there was an older woman in Washington Square Park — about 60. But I’m 90. (laughs)

SO HOW DOES THAT FEEL?Well, it’s not that I am not afraid of the virus. For me, the quality of my life is more important than just being alive.

For years I didn’t understand why people weren’t out in the street day every day. Organizing around racism, around homelessness and environmental issues. And now it’s happening — it’s really happening — and I just could not stay home and not be a part of it.

“I affixed my Black Lives Matter sign to my walker, put on my PPE and wheeled out into the streets.”

YOU’VE BEEN AN ACTIVIST SINCE YOUR EARLY 20s …Before that. My great grandfather was Samuel Gompers, founder of the American Federation of Labor — so it’s in my bones.

YOU WERE ACTIVE IN THE CIVIL RIGHTS MOVEMENT IN THE ’60s — WHAT ARE THE DIFFERENCES TO BLM NOW?Today’s moment is much broader. This is all over the world. The incredible uprisings and multiracial collective actions calling to disarm, defund and disband the police are profoundly historic.

WHY DO YOU THINK THAT IS?Cameras!

I WANT TO BE AROUND TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.Well, defunding the NYPD sounded hopeful — but it was a sham here in New York City. Just shuffling money. De Blasio — worthless …

Since then, the movement has enlarged to deal with homelessness, poverty. I am feeling good about this.

SO DO YOU FEEL HOPE?I was an optimist all my life — but no longer.

I feel most concerned about the environment. I suspect we have crossed the line.

Regardless, we still have to live our lives with integrity. And continue to work at building a better world.

ARE YOUNG PROTESTORS INTERESTED IN YOUR ACTIVIST PAST?Yes, Indeed. They’re learning from me. I’m learning from them. Jewish Voice for Peace just interviewed me about my life. And hundreds of people viewed it on-line.

WHAT KIND OF THINGS DO YOU DO FOR JEWISH VOICE FOR PEACE?I’m doing a lot now — reaching out to new members — sharing with them how they can get involved.

SO ARE YOU READY TO PASS THE TORCH?Not yet. I’ve become quite the celebrity you know. (laughs)

Jeffrey wants it all

Photo: Chae Kihn

JEFFREY ESCOFFIER, 77

Jeffrey and I have a friend in common, the fabulist and fabulous GB Héctor Lionel. BLM is not Jeffrey’s first rodeo — he helped start the Gay Activist Alliance in the ’70s, founded the first Gay and Lesbian national magazine, and organized national gay conferences with writers like Gore Vidal, Judy Grahn, and Allen Ginsberg. You get the picture.

Is he still out there? You bet he is …

“I always considered myself an activist, and no matter how esoteric my intellectual interests are, what I want to know helps me do what is important.”

DO YOU STILL CONSIDER YOURSELF AN ACTIVIST?
I am an activist.

DOES IT FRUSTRATE YOU THAT YOU CAN’T BE PART OF THE DEMONSTRATIONS?
A little. I want my body to be counted, but I am not a participant on the streets.

But, you know, I have been in many demonstrations. In some ways, they’re ephemeral.

And — I have a different relationship to the black community now than I used to. And a different relationship to the LGBT community.

DO YOU THINK GAYS HAVE GONE TOO FAR TO IDEALIZE “HETERO-NORMALCY?”
Partly — the thing that distinguishes us is our sex lives. There is less emphasis on that nowadays. And that’s a loss.

WELL, A LITTLE JUICY BIT ASIDE BUT — YOU MENTIONED YOU ARE WRITING ABOUT SEX. THAT’S A BROAD SUBJECT. DO TELL.
One of the first books I read was Kate Millet’s Sexual Politics. And it has nothing to do with sex. It’s all about gender. Historians don’t write about sex. They don’t treat it as a serious subject. I write about sexuality a lot — and the sexual revolution. I’m interested in fucking.

ALRIGHTEY!!

WHAT ARE THE PARALLELS BETWEEN WHAT YOU HAD GONE THROUGH WITH THE LGBT AND THE CIVIL RIGHTS MOVEMENT AND TODAY?
I’m feeling 2020 is approaching the sort of significance of 1969. But it’s a very different fight.

MEANING?
Let’s step back. I’ve always wanted to be a public intellectual, wanted to be a Susan Sontag. And be political too. I went to grad school at Columbia and that’s where I was in ’68 when the university closed down and the riots exploded. And In the fall of ’69 I joined a group of people starting the Gay Activist Alliance. I started a magazine. I organized a lecture series. So that’s what you are when you’re a public intellectual.

AND WE HAVEN’T EVEN GOTTEN TO SAN FRANCISCO YET …
I moved to San Francisco in 1977 — at the Golden Peak — and started the San Francisco Lesbian Gay History Project, and 30 years later it has evolved into a museum. Then I started the magazine called Out/Look — a combination of intellectual and cultural magazine for the times.

My political activities were a part of a broader range of anti-war activities, socialism, Black civil rights, always intermingled …

At some point certainly the Black civil rights movement was a model.

A MODEL FOR WHAT LGBT THE MOVEMENT COULD BE?
Definitely. The book called The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual by Harold Cruse gave me a vision that it was important to create a culture as a basis for political action. So this was my thinking behind the lecture series, starting magazines, being involved in the LGBT community in that way. I thought it was very important to create a culture in order for the politics to thrive and grow.

That’s what I have devoted my life to.

BUT — THERE WERE PARTS OF THE BLACK POWER MOVEMENT THAT WERE VERY SUCCESSFUL. AND PARTS THAT WERE NOT.
So I’d pick and choose. But there was a culture to pick and choose from.

SO — DO YOU THINK IT IS THE SAME FIGHT OVER?
No. Which is why I needed to step back. We’ve gone full circle. Whatever’s taking place now assumes what’s happened in the past. It couldn’t happen without it. Without us.

TRUE.
But it also addresses stuff that has never been fixed.

So, in some sense, it’s a continuation. And I’m very curious to see where it will go.

AND WHY NOW DO YOU THINK?
There is a kind of continuity between COVID, with its high Black mortality rate, and police violence, which also has a high Black mortality rate. It is not just an accident. These two things are coinciding, everyone has been laid off, and it’s more likely that blacks and other people of color have lost their jobs — so it seems to me that what COVID did was like an instrument that suddenly x-rayed the inequalities of American society and magnified them.

One thing, though, is very different. There’s not a kind of national leadership that we used to have in the ‘60s.

And that makes me worried that it’s going to be difficult to maintain it.

WHAT GIVES YOU HOPE?
There’s definitely a sign of hope that people are demonstrating …

But, we should have all been demonstrating more in the last four years than we did.

With Trump, I’m more scared then I have ever been..

“Historians don’t write about sex. They don’t treat it as a serious subject. I write about the sexual revolution a lot. I’m interested in fucking.”

HOW ARE YOU PARTICIPATING NOW AS AN ACTIVIST?
The epidemic has reawakened certain activist aspects of me. I was trained as an economist. It was kind of breathtaking to me when De Blasio and Cuomo shut the whole state down. And the economy stops.

SO YOU ARE WRITING ABOUT THIS …
Yes. I just finished a piece for a queer lefty journal, Pinko. And I’m connected to The Brooklyn Institute for Social Research, a left wing, adult education organization. I organize seminars.

LET’S GO THERE: IF YOU RAN THE UNIVERSE — WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? THAT’S A BIG QUESTION BUT …
Yeah, that’s a big one. But …

There was no framework for responding to the epidemic.

There was a pandemic preparedness office but Trump closed it. I would have suggested, first of all, never make everyone quarantine. People hate it. Whatever it is, it’s an economic decision. You remember the guy with Ebola who came to New York …

A FEW YEARS AGO, YES …
He was quarantined immediately, him and his wife. The City provided them with food and supplies. They were tested every day. That’s what a quarantine involves — supporting people. Today we have this loose quarantine, people themselves have to buy the basics and food.

NO CONTROL.
It wasn’t controlled. Although you hate to do it, it’s better sooner than later to quarantine — with support.

They made the quarantine decision because they were panicked — and it’s a bigger economic decision — as well as public health decision — than they ever realized.

DO YOU HAVE A FEELING OF INVISIBILITY — OF NOT BEING HEARD — AS A RESULT OF NOT BEING OUT AS MUCH?
Not at all. I am being read. I am being seen. In fact, I have a lot of younger friends and many of them have basically been nagging because I have so very little sense of being at risk. I’d go out and they wouldn’t leave their house at all — ordered everything online. I just couldn’t do that.

SO YOU’D GO OUT AND WHEN IT GOT TOO CRAZY, YOU LEFT.
Well, that’s generally my approach. (laughs)

DO YOU FEEL READY TO PASS ON THE TORCH?
That’s a complicated question. But, I’m not sure it’s up to me to pass the torch. In fact, younger folks have already started carrying the torch on their own — for the left, racial equality and for LGBTQ.

YOU CONTINUE TO BE AN ACTIVIST INTELLECTUAL — THAT IS YOUR LEGACY …
I always considered myself an activist. And no matter how esoteric my intellectual interests are, what I want to know helps me do what is important.

And right now, I’m writing.

SO YOU WORK WELL, LIVE WELL, WITH YOUNGER GENERATIONS…
Most of my friends are younger.

It has only been this last year that I have developed a new circle of friends, all people in their 70s.

I’m very happy. I’m a proud septuagenarian. And I’m trying to figure out why do I feel like this is interesting — and maybe important.

OH, I’D LOVE TO HEAR THIS.
It’s not the personal biography. But it’s the fact that we have lived through history.

YES.
And at this point, without always realizing it, we’re still processing that history. That’s one of the things that we’ve chosen because of our historical experience … not so much because I’m 70 and healthy and so on, but because I’ve lived through this unique history. It’s really about being ravished by history.

YES. RAVISHED BY HISTORY. I FEEL THAT PHRASE.
That’s what’s important about us being older, what we lived through, and how are we using that now…

Before I sat down with these firebrands, I thought their stories would be full of dis-empowerment — frustrated that they cannot be heard in the media, in the world. Feeling invisible.

No.

These are stories of power.

And concern.

The elections are coming. And. Black Lives Matter is too important to sputter. We ALL have to pick our bricks to throw or build, to ensure this movement is not just a “that was so 2020” moment. I’ll take my cue from Elizabeth — hopeful but guarded …

Take Back Summer: The Return of Glorious Beach Broads

We know, we know — EVERYTHING is different now. But let's have a real summer moment and celebrate the Glorious Beach Broads we’ve found strolling down our New York City beaches the past two years. 

Model gorgeousness — check. Knockouts of all shapes and ages — check check check!

What I love about all of these broads is their eternal badass confidence. They remind me of my first trip to Europe. I was just about 20 — and was blown away that whatever size, whatever age, the women there were strutting their stuff in their bikinis — owning every bit of their years — their skin — their ‘tude

Enjoy this glorious sampling from our past. It will come back! But meanwhile … here's to the heat, hotties, salt water, and sand.

LONG LIVE SUMMER!!

Serious crush time: The sensuality, the lushness, the confidence — the gloriousness

Photo: Chae Kihn

“I got this swimsuit on Amazon for $2 — just watch how I’m glowin” …

Photo: Andrew Vallario

Sizzlin’ — Welcome to the Rockaways baby!

Photo: Calvin Stark

Hangin’ with my bestie 4 life!

Photo: Andrew Vallario

No two-pieces after 50? Fuck that!

Photo: Andrew Vallario

Feeling SKIN

Photo: Andrew Vallario

NO WORDS! Loving the matching bags, bikinis and badass attitudes

Photo: Chae Kihn

A lifetime of pliés …

Photo: Andrew Vallario

Yeah. I’m flauntin’ it.

Photo: Andrew Vallario

‘Tis me. Sporting my history. Stay proud. Stay strong. Stay healthy — Feel sexy.

And let’s feel free to wear bikinis ‘till they put us six feet under. F**k it!

A Dear John Letter to NYC

I left my heart …

Photo: Christopher Scalzi @christopher.scalzi

Sometimes I treat New York City like a boyfriend. A boyfriend I’m tired of. A boyfriend I take for granted. A boyfriend I treat like shit.

I mean — not all of the time. What’s the fun of that?

But I get fed up — I get blasé. I get bored with the antics …

And then. Everything shifted.

You turned on me. What I thought would always be there was suddenly so very not.

What I'm missing are all the little things … the little things between you and me.

Having the touchstones of my existence vanish overnight makes this “pause” – this “passage” — this — cruel premature ending for — who knows how long — so mean — so heartless.

How could you?

Like — Broadway — I thrived on the tradition of those nights … not the must-see show, the razzle dazzle. I'm talking scoring the right table at Joe Allen’s after curtain and milking the martinis — or better yet — squatting ourselves at the bar, swapping boozy critiques — did Ben get it right — was it overhyped — did it transform you — even for a moment — keeping our eyes peeled for the “stahs” swannin’ in and out of the always drafty doors — having hilarious exchanges with the drunken regulars — actors, wannabe actors, playwrights, wannabe playwrights, who held court in the coveted corner.

I miss this about us.

And the West Village, where you and I were so in love. It is a bubble, yes, but it was our bubble.

Getting an overpriced juice at Sam’s, the local deli, having a laugh and a flirt with a few hot Mexican guys way below appropriate age. Sometimes – when feeling flush and “continental” — sitting outside for an espresso at Sant Ambroeus — putting off my workout, putting off my work. The screech of the garbage trucks competing with those fucking jack hammers trying to interrupt my journaling or reading — but —
I wouldn’t let them. Paying 36 bucks for avocado toast to sit on the corner, smelling frequent wafts of piss... I love that corner. But you know that.

Or grabbing myself the best cappuccino in town — and a daily chitchat session with an actor buddy — WHAT DOES ONE HAVE TO SEE – what’d I miss — what will you be in?  A 10 minute highly caffeinated exchange before running off to our respective gyms — our respective communities. He — the posh Equinox. Me — the McBurney Y on West 14th.

And oh that Y… the old timers bullshitting around their table, overseeing the babes over 60 at the pool for hours. Never ever lifting an arm, much less a weight. And the girls! Retro bathing suits (and trust me, this retro hasn't come back around) lined up outside the sauna. All of them looking like my mom’s in the 50’s. And the ones who did pump their stuff regularly at 90, putting my ass to shame. What has happened to them? Where do they go now for laughs? For camaraderie? This keeps me up at night.

I thought all of this would always be there. Who knew this would all just — end.

What happened to always jolly Ali working the newsstand on 12th and Eighth? It’s open I know — but to one at a time. Wha? I miss being there crammed with fashionistas on the hunt — begging Ali for his latest gets, walking out with $75 worth of magical stuff I maybe really didn’t need.

Peeling out on my bike wheeling into the Hudson Park like the 12-year-old tomboy I still am. Navigating the impossible potholes that will surely kill you if another biker does not — nothing has changed here. Except everybody looks like the mummy. Mummies with helmets. And when you zip down Bleecker where I was never a shopper but one who’d chuckle at the outlandish prices, well, now it’s a ghost land. It was on its way. But it’s official.

There is a sadness with you, New York, that I just can’t shake.

People tell me to wait for you. To be patient with you. That you’ll return. To give you another chance.

But we both know I’m no longer 30. I don’t know If I have it in me.

Of course, there'll be a new young love to enter the picture and give it a try with you — isn't this always the way? And that might be good. Someone who is sweet, fevered, who can laugh at your jokes I am now so tired of. She will fawn over you —and work with you on the dream you might be. Again. She will take the parade of ghostliness as a challenge for change — and maybe having a meal under $100 and see a piece of theatre under $200. And an apartment for less than a gazillion dollars a square foot. Sounds like a beautiful fresh start.

As for me. I’m weary. I miss what we were. I think you and I may be burnt out, my love.

But what a glorious romance we had. No?

Meet the Badass Broads of My Corona Text Lifeline

Co-anchor/Cub Reporter MS

Co-anchor/Cub Reporter LF

A pleasure newly acquired for me during this epic Coronaquarantine moment is a morning blast of urgent news — not from the NY Times — no no no. From fellow “Cub Reporters in Captivity” — 80-something LF and 70-something MS. My just-turned-70-year-old self MJ hits the sack first, so I get to wake up to a wave of urgent banter in my inbox — and a rundown of the politics I missed while snoozing. There's been no shortage of ageist crap with Corona — and we're all over that. Our back and forth is a daily reminder that actual fierce motherfuckers and Glorious Broads such as ourselves bear little resemblance to the elderly, out of touch victims constantly referred to in media these days. A cure for any Coronablues; a sample of our totally subjective, not so linear, stream of consciousness, jailhouse banter, radical newsletter. Our Day 1 was 13 days from actual start — but hey — it’s coronotime — who’s counting!? This blur of activity continues to brightens my mornings — but I had to put a cap on it to share. WELCOME READERS!

DAY 1
LF: Saw this yesterday, beyond shocked. Don’t forget that fucking asshole has millions of listeners. From the horse’s assmouth:

 “I would rather have my children stay home and have all of us who are over 50 go in and keep this economy going and working, Even if we all get sick, I’d rather die than kill the country.” —   Glenn Beck 

MS: He goes first

MS: WHY WE LOVE NYC: 40,000 healthcare professionals who weren't working signed up to help: Docs, plastic surgeons, dermatologists, etc. Wow!

And then there’s Cuomo in NY Post:

LF: What a fucking rag is that paper. Looking for ass wipe? Look no further.

DAY 2
LF: My kind neighbor did shopping today, bought me a chunk of gruyere which I devoured as if I’d just been liberated from Auschwitz.

MS: Wait! I go for a long walk every day. I will bring you pasta from Morso tomorrow.

LF: One heaping bowl of spaghetti with marinara!? Sick of this healthy food in my frig. I’m gonna stay awake dreaming about it …

DAY 3

LF: My friend Hector on his morning grocery hunt.

MJ: So Prince!

MS: Totally.

LF: Let's all meet up “when it’s over” — our new refrain. Encountered Hector 5 months ago at Met gift shop, he can discuss everything from Plato to NATO. And a voice from heaven. One night he belts out La Vie en Rose on a mini staircase on Seventh Ave — woulda brought Piaf to her knees.

MS: Get him on Glorious Broads, MJ!

DAY 4

MS: Best ever. But there are better canned tomatoes with less salt.

LF: Like I’m gonna really cook. But appreciate the info.

MS: In another life, I made this regularly and so good.

MJ: Funny how the lives pile up.

DAY 5
MS: Watch “Unorthodox” on Netflix. True story.

LF: Loved loved. Read the book and met author at a conference. So tough for these kids to leave the Chassidic fold, almost impossible.

MS: Then see “Bernie.” Another fab true story. Bernie in my top 5. “Top Five” in my top three.

MJ: I need a top 5 list from you two!

MS: “Capernaum.” #1. “Lady Sings the Blues.” #2. “Bernie.” #3. “Moulin Rouge.” #4. “Top Five.” #5.

LF: My absolute must: “CripCamp”, produced by the Obamas. Your soul will sing. This is the world we want to create “when this is over.”

DAY 6
LF: Had a really bad night. All the demons caught up to me. Anxiety on steroids. Today, feeling fine. Ready to move (to another planet, maybe?)

MS: Watch Top Five with Chris Rock. That’ll laugh it away.

LF: Saw Chris Rock. Remember his formula for a good marriage? Fuck and Travel!

MJ: Formula spot on. Living full time with another human being’s a bitch.

LF: Only way I could live with a male human being is if he lived in Bora Bora and I live in Manhattan. Might work ... if I try hard.

MS: My guy is so easy. Good thing. There's a reason he is my third husband — it's my way or the highway!!

LF: When I commit my first murder, I’m hiring your lawyer husband as my defense attorney. Get me sentenced to Otisville where all the hot shot Yids go. Great Kosher kitchen!

DAY 7
LF: Start cutting up those old t-shirts, girls, to make masks. A little old quarantine — no excuse to let your beauty regimen decline.

MS: Bet Gucci, Fendi, LV will soon have $1000 versions available on line.

LF: Stick to the old t-shirts! Locked in their homes, everyone sees how unnecessary and unfulfilling that lux shit is. At least that’s what’s happening to me — so why not project.

MJ: Why buy lux now? To go from room to room? All gonna tank, me thinks.

MS: Totally.

LF: Right on.

MS: What I see.

LF: What’s that red on the Empire State Building? Trump is trying to wipe the blood off his hands?

‘Our President gave us so much hope’: MyPillow CEO goes off script at coronavirus briefing

LF: Can’t make this up!

MJ: Just watched news conference. Stomach churning as he keeps bringing “credit” to himself. Kill me.

MS: Can’t make this shit up. HaHaHa

MS: Long Island City. Never saw so many apt lights on. Early AM.

LF: Beautiful but slightly bizarre. In my part of town, very few lights. All have fled to Hamptons or other watering holes. 57th Street, Billionaires’ Row, in total darkness.

MS: Wowser.

LF: Do you miss not sitting this out in Hamptons?

MS: No. Boring. I don’t like it there unless summer. Cold. Dark at night. Plus, so many assholes out there now.

LF: Such entitled fuckers. When they die they’re going to be eaten by only the very best of worms.

DAY 8

LF: Questions to ponder today - whatever happened to...
(1)  John Bolton’s memoirs that were supposed to shock us senseless with their revelations??
(2)  Omarosa Manigault? Omarosa who?

MJ: Ghosts …

DAY 9
MS: More dilemmas: “Not all coronavirus exposures are alike”

LF: So much information out there — experts don’t know for sure, how should we? Screw the pandemic. It’s the infodemic that’s going to kill us.

MJ: My head is exploding. Ommmmmmm.

MS: Tru dat.

LF: Everyone’s turning thongs into masks. Are we becoming a nation of secret panty sniffers!?

MJ: Best thread ever.

LF: Didn’t know I was a dirty old lady?

LF: “Opinion: Putting Jared Kushner in charge is utter madness”
This motherfucker is gonna kill us with arrogance, ignorance and omnipotence. A  toxic combo.

DAY 10
LF: “The CDC is encouraging Americans to wear face coverings in public. Trump said he won’t wear one.”
Can’t make this shit up.

MS: Whaaaaaat the F!

LF: The black mask he's wearing would fit conveniently between his legs — one hole for his ass, one for his dick. Remember, this is a man who talks through his ass, thinks through his dick and eats with his hands.”

MJ: OMG. I don’t want this jerk to die from the big C. Then he’ll be hero worshipped.

MS: I do. Maybe send him some reusable toilet paper. (winkwink) 

DAY 12

LF: I live alone and I think stuff like this.

LF: Exactly the way I talk to myself. “Do I have pasta for lunch today?” “No fucking way!”

DAY 13

LF: In your Easter mask — so, Mr. Berlin, a new song please …

MJ: I don’t go on FB much — saw why today. Everybody’s freaking out together. So bad for collective psyche.

MS: Tiger gets corona!

MJ: Nooooo!

LF: Never went on FB. Addictive and destructive.  A propos the above — don’t bring tigers into your apt. This week. Wait ‘til the crisis ends.

MS: Good advice on both.

LF: Listen kiddies. If it gets to be too much, we all meet, hold hands, get on the subway and start licking the poles like lollypops. No more worries.

MS: Won’t work. Disinfecting with Clorox and spray daily — and no one on train.

LF: A sure death: Blow Donald Trump. He IS the virus.

MS: The thought kills me.

DAY 14

LF: “The voices behind Trump;s push to treat COVID-19 with unproven anti-malaria Drug”
Wisdom from the World’s Great Epidemiologists — Rudy Giuliani and Sean Hannity!

MS: “Coronavirus genomes show NY’s COVID-19 outbreak came from Europe months ago”

LF: The latest hate list. Donald will now call it the Venetian Virus. Formerly the Wuhan Virus. VW. It’s a Volkswagon Virus started by hidden Nazis! (See, that’s the way conspiracists see things). Remember, I said it first.

MJ: Pig of the Day! We still got the elderly on our hate list! “Bill O’Reilly plays down coronavirus deaths in chat with Sean Hannity: They were ‘on their last legs’ anway’

LF: I’m speechless! Doesn’t happen often.

MJ: Oh Christ. I wasn’t for Bernie initially but was sad somehow as our world is turned upside down. Hurry up Joe and pick a fierce woman.

LF: I’m nuts about all the broads: Warren, Abrams, Harris …

MS: OPRAH!

MJ: Let's go ahead and start a radical newsletter weekly.

LF: Find us some followers. And we’ll will mouth off on anything

MS: Just give us marching orders, wind us up and we talk!



In Our Prime: Me and My Siblings — from Youth to Truth

The clan 1,000,000,000 years ago

I AM NEVER TIMELY WITH THESE THINGS. Apparently yesterday was “Sibling Day” — oops — off at least one day per usual. Who comes up with these official “days” I wonder? Dog Day. Sister Day. Cat Day — you name it — there is a day for it.

Here’s a photo of me and my siblings in our “prime.” We always say that to each other, sharing a chuckle. This is no plea to tell me we all look swell at our present age. We do. But there is nothing like youth, baby. And we enjoyed every bit of it.

But “prime” — prime is another whole matter.

When I look at this photo I think of all the effing work we have done on ourselves since then — and how — I’m gonna say it — awesome we have all become. I mean, it was not awesome for our two spectacular sisters, Renee, far left, and Dolores, kanoodling with brother John on right, to have left us. But that is what happened. I can tell you that they both grew into strong, independent, funny, fierce, smart-ass women who left us in their “prime” a zillion years after this photo was taken. I can tell you that the red head on bottom, Carolyn, grew into a powerhouse raising 3 kids on her own, taking the lead caring for our rapidly declining mother and now living a full life as a writer-yoga-lovin’ and — I don’t know what the fuck she is doing — but she is blissfully happy doing it, I can tell you that the sexy Veronica Lake look-alike, Pam, is running one of the most successful casting agencies in town, and the most caring, fierce woman I have had the good luck to have known, much less, be related to, I can tell you that my brother John has made all of us so proud — a man who now talks feelings — a man whose become the heart and soul of the clan — who’d a thunk — and that me, the dark haired saucy one leaning into Pam grew into all of her talents — no longer working day and night for da man — but for herself.

This, 36 years later, is what I call “prime.”

Happy Belated Siblings Day everyone!

Pandemic Milestone Birthday — Turning the big 7-0 in Corona

When things really were “normal” — one year ago

I TURNED 70-YEARS-OLD THIS MONTH — and I feel like I’m 30. That ain’t normal.

I’m living across from the park uptown and most of the sounds I hear are those of ambulance sirens. That ain’t normal.

I have so much to be grateful for in my life — and I don’t usually “do” gratitude lists — they make  me retch. That ain’t normal.

I am eternally grateful for my “vim and vigor” —which I never was as a partying young thang. The older I get the more I want to, ya know, seize the day. And that ain’t normal. 

The highlight of my day is clanking pots leaning out the window precisely at 7pm  — givin’ it up for the nurses and doctors killin’ themselves to keep us alive. That ain’t normal.

I’ve been fuckin’ around about my “number” for the last 7 years. Now I don’t give a shit. I’m 70. That aint normal but should be normal.

I’m about to watch my 8th news show of the day. It’s 4:00. That ain’t normal.

I’m living with my partner who I NEVER intended to co-habitate with. But here we are — “in case.” Some days I want to chop him up into little pieces — Sweeney Todd style. Other days it’s “oh lucky me.” I am hearing this is very normal.

I now love phone. Fuck texts! Gimme the voice! And that ain’t normal.

I’m happy to rejoin the Social fold after a few weeks off — social isolation begot spiritual isolation. And that ain’t normal.

Virtual hugs and resilience. Lookin’ forward to catching up.

Maryjane

Cunni-Language: New Words for a New World

By Maryjane Fahey and Corey Root

Now that we’ve just lost our last woman candidate, mama needs to rant. It’s waaaay overdue to get past the gendered horseshittery that pervades our culture — even down to our words. We hooted and hollered when our beloved Speaker of the House ripped up the SOTU. YESSSSSSS. But where are the words to describe St. Nancy? Ballsy? Clitsy?? What do we do about these dude/male/manly words with no female equivalent? We are here to demand some LADY LANGUAGE ...

1. THEY HAVE: BDE — Big Dick Energy

   WE NEED: We love Liz Plank's BIG UTERUS ENERGY … You betcha.

2. THEY HAVE: Cocky
   WE NEED: Yonitude, attitude for your yoni. Strut that stuff, mama, you ARE all that

3. THEY HAVE: Man Up
   WE NEED: Pussy Power — as Dan Savage tells us regularly, it's pussys that are strong and scrotum that are vulnerable and weak, let's get our language in line with reality already

4. THEY HAVE: Ballsy
   WE NEED: Clitsy? We can all agree that clits have it over balls every day

5. THEY HAVE: Grow a Pair
   WE NEED: We're still leaning in with Sheryl Sandberg — minus the part where Facebook steals our data and elections…

6. THEY HAVE: Balls to the Wall
WE NEED: No replacement, let's just stop saying this

7. THEY HAVE: Hooters Restaurants
WE NEED: Schlongs? Or a menu of sausages and waiters in banana hammocks …
Or maybe O'Nutters would be better?

PREACH AMY! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zYBA1GQf5WQ

And sure, there are no MALE equivalents of phrases like mistress, frigid, or on the rag, but we'll use our pussy power on larger issues. Cheers to your vulva!!!

The Feminine Mystique: Mother and Me

She might have quipped — “What, no heels?”

I spotted this magenta beauty strutting around Paris, solo, celebrating the end of one job and the beginning of liberation as a consultant. The coat stopped me in my tracks, ‘Mon dieu — M O T H E R!’⁣

It's the Sandro, high-end version of her silver fake fur (before fake was chic, sisters) worn by Mother, not mom — she was Mother with a capital M. Each morning at 6:15, Mother donned her coat and wrap-around shades, threw her hair back dramatically on her way out the door to drive dad to the train. She projected GLAM, POWER and — do not talk to me, children, until I've had at least 2 cups of strong coffee. Style — to Mother — was all.⁣

“At the age of six, I made my own Scarlett O’Hara vow — to be bad-ass, powered-up — and independent”

She was smart, funny, intuitive, bossy and gave everything to her kids. She could have ruled a corporation. Instead she ruled our house. But even as a kid, I noticed the imbalance —  why did this powerhouse have to ask dad (dominated by her in most ways) for spending money for groceries and cold cream? When she was refused, it broke my heart.⁣

At the age of six, I made my own Scarlett O'Hara vow — to be empowered, bad-ass, and independent. No asking for ‘spending’ — I would have my own money, and have somebody drive ME to the train …⁣

When I swaddle myself in this fuzzy chicness, bought in a city she’d never been to, with spending money I earned, I think of Mother — and wonder who she may have been if born decades later. Am I just a modern, updated version of her? If so, I’ll take it — and thank my glorious Mother for the hard-won lessons of love, values — and bad-ass fashion taste she bequeathed me.”

Restarting a Life at 90 Something? Fuck, Yeah ...

My favorite spot: the Harbor

Ilona by Ilona

I always felt I would live out my final years in Provincetown. It lured me at 19. I was smitten by all things Ptown — the combo of ye olde new england Portuguese fishing village at the end of the world — but also somehow full of counterculturalfaves — rollicking gay night life — best drag acts — anywhere — beautiful beefcake boys, meat racks, meatier lesbians, and the naughty drunken past of Eugene O’Neill, Tennessee Williams, Norman Mailer marking their territory — like a dog. And the beauty — the beaches, the smells, the lighting ­— oh the lighting — of P-town. It made me misty. Still makes me misty.

I saw myself with a black lab — or maybe buff (!) colored (and I am not a dog person) and some kind of partner. Maybe a big, burly Gertrude Stein type, and I would allow her to mother me, to love me, to cook for me (I know, Alice did all that – but these are my daydreams.)

For the past four summers I’ve been going back to Ptown, and, despite a few husbands and many many male lovers, my dream of being the eccentric ole girl on Provincetown Beach persists— dog in tow, Gertrude baking muffins. I see me writing. I see me going to readings with Eileen Myles (would she give me a toss when we are both 80?), and earnest artist chats with Michael Cunningham — you know — the whole package.

“Would Eileen Myles give me a toss when we are both 80?”

Back in New York, I forget about my fantasy. It is, after all, two decades away.

Last night, I dropped by the always delicious Debra Rapoport, who lives in the hood, as she packed for a trip to Mexico. I am a notepad girl, and when you visit Debra, you just leave out your god damn pad and pen ... she says sooo many “you must see, did you know, are you aware of ...” I am scribbling away over a cup of tea, when she tells me that the west village wonder, 98-year-old Ilona Royce Smithkin, of Advanced Style fame, left the village and has moved to live and paint in Provincetown. It was then I realized – I have not seen this magical creature in the last years. What stunned me was— I hadn’t really noticed she was gone — she was simply a presence that vanished. POOF. Like so many landmarks in this fading neighborhood. No more.

I cried all the way home, tears turning to icicles — and pondered my ideal future that Ilona is now living, painting, writing, being. I hope she has a Gertrude …

F*** "Fearless" ... And Other Buzzwords I'm Done With

I think I’m pullin’ off classic cool here …

Catapulting our way into a new decade, I've been reflecting on what we — what I — can leave behind. “I am tired of being ‘cool’” — I told my sister recently. And she thought that was funny. But hey, of course I still wanna be classic cool — the perfect shades, the must have black — but the little things I used to give a shit about that I don’t any more. Like — cool buzzwords. So many tired. It's 2020 and we don't need to make space for ageist/sexist/transphobic lingo. BS. My picks for buzzwords to DUMP in 2020 — and what to SWAP:

DUMP:
SENIOR
This word always makes me so sad. Especially when I use it. And I do use it motherfuckers — to get my discounts, haaayy.

SWAP:
GEEZERS 
At least we’d all laugh. And don't they use this in the UK? Then again, they use the "c" word....

DUMP:
MS. / MISS / MRS.
WHY are we still using this horseshit for women? None of your business. And all “men” get to be Mr.? 

SWAP:
BEYOND GENDER
Just stop asking for our genders in forms. How about that?

DUMP:
EMPOWERMENT 
We've spent the last two decades cultivating our feelings — it's not enough.

SWAP:
ACTIVATION
It's time we all get activated, for the earth, for the election, for people of color, for trans and nonbinary folx — it's not just about feeling it's about DOING.

DUMP:
HUGE
Sadly, this word is ruined forever.

SWAP:
Nothing to swap — we all agree that size doesn't matter right? Unless you have weirdly tiny hands — in that case, hard pass

DUMP:
“MATURE” — women’s department in retail 
Is there a “mature” men’s department? — look, it applies above and it applies here. What can I say? We live in a misogynist shit show.

SWAP:
CRONE
You want mature? I'll give you really really “mature” — we are taking this word BACK, and taking back Crone Power.  

CLASSIC
There, I gave you two.

DUMP:
BADASS
Hey, I use it myself, but it’s tired tired tired. In 2020, who are these badass iconoclasts we're even talking about? Badass tattoos? We've all got them. Badass hair color? You can get in it in the mall. OVUH …  

SWAP:
COOL AF
You know ‘em when you see ‘em. A person who emits the world of effortless cooooooool — basking in the simple pleasures of breathing, eating, fucking, being. Like the ladies on Glorious Broads — the real deal — Cool AF

DUMP:
WOMEN OF A CERTAIN AGE
What age are we talking about here? The certain age you're gonna turn, too, someday? Go fuck yourselves.

SWAP:
OWNING AGE
Whatever your number, we don't need to be cutesy about dancing around it. I'm sixty-seven. And I rock. See how easy that was?

DUMP:
FEARLESS
Oh please — who the fuck is REALLY fearless?  Maybe crazy people like Evel Knievel or Houdini — and look where that got ‘em. I’m media’d out with this word myself, from Mercedes to (all) Beauty Companies to Cosmo: Kill me.

SWAP:
FACE FEAR.
I admit it lacks the BLING of fearless but, indulge me. I am presently in deep women’s crush mode (again) with Debbie Harry and her new book FACE IT. For most of us not trying to jump canyons or escape from underwater straightjackets, it's not about the ABSENCE of fear, it's about dealing with it. So, deal already. And FACE FEAR.

DUMP:
MAAAAM
Can we just put this to bed. WTF is the male equivalent? That’s right. There is none.

SWAP:
FRIEND
Ain't it good to know you've got a friend? You've gotta have ... friends. I would SO MUCH rather be friended than ma'amed. Bonus: Gender neutral.

DUMP:
INVISIBLE
Invisibility is a choice.

SWAP:
STAND OUT
Be you. Do you. And It's never too late baby.

DUMP:
AWESOME. 
Like, no. Unless it's Beyoncé.

SWAP:
INTERESTING 
This gives us the balance to more accurately reflect our current Uber nuanced reality. Ya know? Like, Is your almond milk awesome? Where was it sourced? What additives are lurking? What about the water and pesticide use where the almonds were grown? It's... interesting. 

DUMP:
REEFER MADNESS
Who's afraid of the big bad pot?

SWAP:
CANNABIS COUTURE
Whether CBD or THC, there's plenty of plant-based medicine to cure what ails ya. We love the glamour and product line of Her Highness . And we’re not being paid for this mention y’all … it’s just glorious — and highly enjoyable.

DUMP:
THINK OUTSIDE THE BOX
I get flashbacks of nightmare corporate meetings. Thirty years is enough of this bullshit.

SWAP:
GET INSIDE MY BOX 
Sorry. Had to channel Robin Byrd here. Hi Robin, you Glorious Broad you!

GOT ANY YOU WANT TO ADD?

#MeToo Musings: Holidays, Sisters — and Harvey

Big sis Dee. Lil’ sis me. We didn’t have a clue.

The newly svelte (facing a lifetime in jail — an excellent diet) Harvey Weinstein and his army of lawyers released a 25 million-dollar settlement. The beast remains free on bail, once judges doubled his bond after he (allegedly) dicked around with his ankle monitor like he (allegedly) dicked around with (at last count) 87 women. What does $25 mil getcha? He's “not required to admit to wrongdoing” — pleading not guilty to raping any of the women who came forward. He gets to say the rapes were all acts of consensual sex. Nice.
What’s particularly interesting to me about the Harvey case is the different generations of women involved. Weinstein’s accusers range from late boomers to millennials. Like Cosby, Harvey’s been at it for a long time — with charges that go back decades. If this settlement goes through, it signals to (rich) shithead abusers that they can get away with — whatever.

And this got me thinking of the current stories — and solidarity — of the #MeToo movement — when the younger generation said: We’re not standing for this.

Alas, 'twas not always so. I saw E. Jean Carroll, author of “What Do We Need Men For,” famous for getting grabbed (and ‘allegedly’ raped) by our fine President, give a talk recently — I RELATED. In my day, growing up in the 50s, on the work force in the 70s, we didn’t want to be seen as victims. We didn’t want to whine. We laughed off the everyday harassment, buried the humiliation. We wanted to work. So we ate it.
I remember day-dreaming as a kid, my top talent at the time, sprawled out on my sisters' bed (always two to a bed) while they were out on one of their “dates” (they were very popular.) I’d roll around in one of their sexy kitten tight sweaters and hoop skirts, filling myself up with wistful songs, flirtatious tunes, 45s spinning away on their “record player.” One of my favorites was Patti Page, and the refrain of the tune I loved was “Don’t you know a girl means yes when she says no.” I can still hear the melody, though I can’t find a trace of the song anywhere today. Maybe they scorched it.

Wise.

Almost as bad is the holiday standard “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”— jaw dropping conversation between a hunter and his soon to be lip smackin’ meal ... a trapped girl.

So many messages received with the same theme: This is the way of the world, girls. Carry on.
And we did. We put up with it. We thought we had to shut up, move on and not talk. Well, we gabbed plenty to each other — about one “horn toad” or another “perv” to look out for. That was our code. Don’t get caught alone with that bugger. But we didn’t know. We didn’t know the value of our voices outside our own circles — then.

But 20-somethings? They aren’t taking it. It's the difference between thriving on “Broad City” vs. “Sex & the City.” It's Emma Watson offering free legal advice on sexual harassment. It's Miley Cyrus reworking the sexist B.S. lyrics of ‘Santa Baby.’ These young Glorious Broads are saying NO. And they are being heard.
So for me — no more "Baby It's Cold Outside." My holiday wish is a world where women — all generations — support and protect each other. And, oh, that the (alleged) rapist motherfucker gets to rot in jail ... like a certain other celebrity.

Happy Holidays!

The Good. The Bad. And the Ugly.

No filter, baby …

Photo: Distilled Studios, Chris Scalzi

We've all seen social media posts showering women “of a certain age” with heaps of Aging “Gracefully” praise. I’m all for the celebration of aging. But I've got a problem when there is only good news. ‘Cause it ain’t true. Enough with posts of stunning ex-models and their manes of thick silver locks and their bravery for natural. Oh shut up. We know about changes in memory, joints, skin, balance, turkey necks. But I've had a few surprises! Jane Fonda warned us of some of this …. But mama told me nothin' … Let's get real about the good, the bad, and the ugly …

THE GOOD
1. Not giving a fuck: This is truth. Who am I trying to impress? The bad is that it didn’t happen three decades earlier.

2. Self Delusion: It’s delicious. When I looked at this portrait of myself, I blamed the (a) lighting (b) makeup (c) wrong angle. Eventually, I embraced the real ass me — mwah!

3. I can do anything: ANYTHING. Who’d thought there would be a chapter AFTER the (traditional) “Over the Hill” phase. But there is …

4. Horny: This was weird. Some women love the freedom to put the sex train behind them. My truth looks more like a thirteen-year-old horndog.

5. No shaving! (except for nose hairs) (and chin hairs) (and the 'stache)

THE BAD
1. Blind as a bat: It sucks. On the other hand, it complements No. 2 Self Delusion above.

2. Make time for fitness: 'Cause it takes WAY more time with each decade. I'm currently at 1.5 hours/day in my 6th decade. Sorry ladies!

3. Need to pee: Constantly.

4. Time anxiety: This is a big one. I'm packed with ideas — please don't let me drop dead before completing half of them.

5. Sleep. What sleep?

THE UGLY
1. Jimmy Durante in the mirror: Your nose, your ears and your fucking feet ALL continue to grow. I haven't sprouted fur yet. Always the optimist.

2. Stench: Now immediately after a shower I wreak within 5 minutes — this needs to change. Other women ditch their deodorant. It's a body chemistry/menopause thing. Surprise!

3. Little nasty thingeys: Suddenly dangling in areas you didn’t expect. Oy.

4. Baldness:  Yes ladies hair loss at the crown is not just for fellas, unforch.

Of course it rocks to get older — but it's liberating to get real and drop the bullshit that every moment is Instagram-ready. Some of what I've seen is a fucking horror show — when I can find my glasses. What's the Good/Bad/Ugly you've found with aging? Do tell.

Perry Street Blues: Pissed Friends, Rude Drunkies — and Anger Management

No no no. Not THE steps …

It’s Labor Day Weekend.

It’s Sunday.

It’s Perry Street.

It’s Bonkers.

And I live here … right down the street from CARRIE’s infamous apartment in Sex and the City.

I see ALL tourists swamp this iconic townhouse, morning, noon, night — with absolutely NO boundaries. Chains? They jump 'em. Signs? Ignored. I always “can’t help but wonder… ” HOW THE FUCK DO THE PEOPLE WHO LIVE HERE DEAL WITH THIS HORSESHIT?

Yesterday when three particularly boisterous and not-giving-a-shit 20-somethings were partying down, hootin' and hollerin’ right in front of THE door, my jaw dropped in mid-stroll. They are so over the top that the owner (never seen him before) finally came out and respectfully requested these girls to give him a break. He informed them that they are a) loitering b) obnoxious and c) ruining his fucking Sunday. Their response? “So why don’t you go move somewhere else?” He remained calm, but I — well — I lost my shit. I SCREECHED at them the ultimate NYC insult, “GET THE FUCK OFF HIS STOOP AND MOVE YOUR ASSES BACK TO JOISEY” — from across the street. I looked and sounded insane. I didn’t care.

And they left.

The owner and I became instant Besties. He dished gossip, history, real estate decline, and of course, stories of SJP. He said he was on his way to anger management class — and did I want to join him. Point taken, new friend. I took the contact info…

Hey, I’m working on my mediation, reading my Buddhist books. It works, and it is work.... But sometimes Glorious ones, when respect is totally absent, I can't promise I won't RAGE OUT … ‘cause that's part of New York being Glorious New York, too. Ya know?

.

And Then There Were Three ...

Leaving – happy/sad

Sometimes you just need to take time off from all things Social. Four days, deep in the woods. I went to celebrate the life and times of my Big Glorious Broad Sis, D, who had the nerve to leave us in November. There were six of us: me, two sisters and three of her best pals. Wasn't expecting to enter a ghostly, mystical space, but that’s where I’ve been .

First night: We sailed around in a small vessel (ok, tiny vessel) — her Bestie as captain. There were bag pipes which usually — barf — but somehow they WORKED. A fierce thunderstorm blew up — but we REFUSED to abandon ship (go ahead, D, off us). Second night — we basked in the gorgeous hazy glow of her promised full moon. Third night: a god damn spectacular rainbow directly over her now desolate dock — reminding us of the debaucheries from our past. Then a mommy marbled duck (my Sis's fave) and her four babies appeared around our dinghy — chock full of booze and her favorite drunkards. Us. Last night: unexpected but delightful fireworks (not ours) and a final send off — (ours) — the release of a midnight blue Japanese lantern containing ashes (hers) that lifted further and further and further into the heavens till — poof — D was gone.

“A mommy marbled duck (my Sis’s fave) and her four babies appeared around our dinghy — chock full of booze and her favorite drunkards. Us”

And it was over. Happy. Broken-hearted. Invigorated. We toasted.

On that final night, her Bestie asked us: “I don’t mean to be a Debbie Downer, but will you ever return?” .

How could we without D? .

But we did leave her initials carved in her dock: DFW

After a quick selfie it was time for our GIRL GANG to depart the magic, return to reality. Sure hope D sends us more messages from beyond — maybe the next time we find a Glorious Brigadoon ...

The 7 Commandments of Aging — John Waters Style

Da MAN

I laughed my ass off reading his 364 page book of joyous road to ruins wisdom. Take heed —‘cause it’s a bitch for radicals to “age gracefully.”

1. “Windswept” and “distinguished” do not go hand in hand. Nothing shouts midlife crisis louder than driving a convertible.

2. As soon as you stop listening to new music, your life is over. You are an old fart.

3. Try speaking in only sound bites for one whole day. Then, once you understand how the media works, you can both use each other – one for free material, the other for unpaid advertisements.

4. Skinny jeans on men* (my insertion) over twenty are a no-no. You look like a loser in a Ramones Halloween costume.

5. Eat sensibly on weekends and irresponsibly on weekends.

6. Never say “I love you” out loud to the person you do unless they are sleeping. It takes the pressure off.

7. Believe your own grandiosity and go wrong to make your career go right. (my personal fave)

Almost verbatim but not quite — The Beloved Filth Elder, John Waters

She's Got the Powuh!

Kristen and Phoebe — nailing it!

My vote for the #emmy - PHOEBE WALLER-BRIDGE in Fleabag.

Did y’all see the scene between Phoebe (Fleabag) and KRISTEN SCOTT THOMAS (Belinda) - So sexy. So real… .

Set up: A posh bar, powerful Belinda and quirky Fleabag.

Fleabag: How old are you?

Belinda: 58. You?

Fleabag: 33.

Belinda: Don’t worry. It does get better. .

Fleabag: Promise?

And then … Belinda’s martini infused theory on aging, power, women…trying it out on our girl:

Belinda: “Women are born with pain – it’s all goin’ on IN HERE ... (pointing toward her body) We have pain on a cycle YEAR after YEAR after YEAR— and just when you feel your making peace with it all — the fucking MENOPAUSE happens — and then (long pause)— you are FREEEE — no longer a slave no longer a machine with parts — now you are simply a person - a person in business.

Fleabag:  I heard it was horrendous.

Belinda: It is horrendous.  And then it’s magnificent.

“We have pain on a cycle YEAR after YEAR after YEAR— and just when you feel your making peace with it all — the fucking MENOPAUSE happens ”

What I loved the most about this conversation (as it goes on) is Belinda saying: yes, it is powerful to be on this side — magnificent - but you miss things. Some things. Go out and seize the day you gorgeous juicy 30 something: flirt with the unknown. Flirt with the night. Flirt with strangers. The only part I miss about being here.

My jaw dropped watching this scene. You just KNEW this was written by a woman. Sexy, funny, incredibly poignant — and while, there wasn’t an ounce of regret in Belinda — there was nostalgia. It’s real. But that was it. Just her facts after a few drinks. Movin on...

 If you haven’t seen it: season 2 episode 3. 11:31 – 13:19. Fucking brilliant. @These two Glorious Broads get REAL and can they ACT ...

Love — Grown Up Style?

A nightmare in my pocket …

Well, I did it. The big exchange with DA MAN — and I haven’t handed over keys to a lover in, ummm, 13 years?! It felt good, like I was opening up the gates and sayin: come on in baby (but do not fuckin’ move in — I have not lost my mind.) He’s a ridiculous person — and immediately bought a key ring that regurgitates Sarah Palin’s bloopers — how can I not love this dude?

Love is a different feeling now as a fiercely independent woman in her sixth decade. I am so much more aware — conscious of my ole tricks and patterns. My go-to move: bolting - OR doing everything but putting a gun to a lover's head to make him go away. The last seven months, I've described my (always revolving) love life with, “Well, he’s gorgeous — but not exactly my type.” A GOOD friend stopped me right in the middle of this bolting-in-advance routine with a real kick in the pants question, “How can HE feel emotionally safe when you’re doin’ all this ‘ ‘not your type’ BS?” And I listened. She was right. God damnit, I did want to change my cray cray habits. He was worth it. And I wanted him — his hilarity, his heart, his own set of damn keys. It's never too late to get your groove on, sisters, and never too late to dump shit that doesn't work for you anymore. Even if that means a ridiculous Sarah Palin key chain in your life ....