A good friend of mine (who is a dude-man, it should be noted) recently started dating a new guy, and things are moving so fast and so passionately that it looks like the relationship could end up being really, really serious. And it’s not notable that they got together and are clicking, as they’re both great guys that you want to hug until your arms go numb and fall off and get eaten by baby alligators.
A couple of months ago, I was leaving a film screening down the street from our beloved New School. I slid out of the theater and onto the sidewalk, where a young African-American couple had stopped, oblivious to the ebb and flow of sidewalk traffic.
I was at a film screening recently when I got to chatting with a prominent film and television critic part of the journalistic old guard, before anybody with a laptop and an opinion could call themselves a reviewer.
At some point in the mid-1970s, it looked like the world of adult film and mainstream cinema would merge, beautifully, into something altogether new and unique. The old studio system was crumbling, which let movies like the X-rated “Midnight Cowboy” sneak in, finding wide audiences (and winning a Best Picture Oscar).
Lately, I’ve been getting junk email requesting participation in the first annual New School alumni email list.