Days spent at Bleecker Park, Leroy Park, and Leroy Library have given me glimpses of women who I am positive are in, as the Gawker article once noted, “sexless marriages.” They’re worn-out, annoyed, and very much “over it.” They can really only focus on their manicure, their high-end shoes, or the fact that their youth is pretty much over.
Culture shopping, as per my own definition, is the eager attentiveness toward a group of people that overrides basic courtesy, respect, and tact. To a degree, we all have it, and by cohabiting in New York with the Hasidim there are bound to be those who are too willing to cross the line.
Today I feel no void, though when it has been suggested by close friends that my reticence about a serious long term relationship, not to mention marriage, all has to do “with my father leaving me,” I feel defensive.
“You and your brother are probably the two good things your father ever did with his life,” my mother said on the phone after I told her of his death. “I think, really, that’s a fine legacy.”
Rap is all about being you deep to the core and not apologizing for it. What was once a rage in me directed at a painful past had been transformed to a healthy female aggression for love.