First Person Singular by Wendy Braitman

Too Smart For Your Own Good

A straight guy I know, who has become a close (platonic) friend, really doesn’t get me. For one thing, he thinks my hair is too short, and he hates when I use more than three syllable words, because I sound too in-tel-luc-tu-al. When I was updating my online dating profile, he advised against listing War and Peace as my favorite book. “It’s a turn off,” he said. I don’t take his advice, but it gets under my skin, into that cold, dark place where I’m sure I would have found true love, if only I was….different.

Which brings me to the late, great Wendy Wasserstein. She died a few years ago at the tender age of 55, and the theater world mourned. Her birthday is Sunday. Through her many plays and essays, Wasserstein was so adept at capturing smart, ambitious women who found their romantic lives coming up short. After years of trying, she became a mother when she was 48 (and wrote a beautiful piece about it in The New Yorker).

Here’s a fragment from her 1988 Pulitzer-prize winning play The Heidi Chronicles, in which Scoop explains to Heidi (a girlfriend he could never commit to) why he’s marrying Lisa:

SCOOP

Do I love her…? She’s the best that I can do.
Is she an A+ like you? No. But I don’t want to
come home to an A+.  A- maybe, but not A+.

Do Never-Married Men Raise a Red Flag?

During the summer, I dated a man with multiple ex-wives. At first, he refused to tell me exactly how many. A look of panic came over my face, and he responded, “You’ve NEVER been married. Who are you to talk?” Ouch. He had a point. I don’t want to be marginalized by my marriage (okay, no-marriage) history, nor should I be doing that to anyone else.

And yet, when I scan a man’s profile on a dating site, who is “never-married,” (and at least in his forties) I immediately wonder what’s wrong with him. Am I a hypocrite? And I shudder to think, is it possible they’re feeling the same way about me?

Signing On to Marriage

This Sunday afternoon, I’ll be attending a wedding in a Malibu vineyard. Before the ceremony begins, the bride and groom will sign a marriage contract (ketubah) and they have asked me to be the witness. I was touched by their request to share this intimate moment. I still believe in the power of weddings, even though I haven’t had one, and even if it’s fertile ground to feel sorry for myself. The way around a pity party was making sure, well in advance, that I had something beautiful to wear. Dress. Shoes. Purse. Wrap. I’m ready.

Where do I sign?

7 Ways to Dig Yourself Out of a Bad Mood

I’ve been reading about the new book, Bright-Sided: How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking Has Undermined America, by Barbara Ehrenreich, who is a writer I admire. I like the title and I get her point. Sometimes really terrible stuff happens, and there is no sane explanation for it, no talking your way out of it or using it as an opportunity for growth.

But it does help to have coping skills. During tough times, I dig into what I call a stress toolbox, which beats spending time buried underneath the covers (especially for me, since I’m a lousy sleeper). Here are the contents:

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What We DON’T Need a Husband For

The last thing I wanted to do today was drive to Beverly Hills. But trust me, I had no choice. The dentist insisted I come in for a post, root canal checkup, and I could no longer put it off. His office is a block from Rodeo Drive, and as I made the left turn onto his street, I took a moment to dream about the luxury brands in my peripheral vision. But this post is not about shopping. Not exactly.

Waiting for the elevator, I stood near a bulky, middle-aged man carrying a purse for his wife, who was young, pretty, and from the look of things, able-bodied. (I knew it wasn’t his purse, because he already had one draped over his shoulder.) Maybe she wasn’t his wife. Maybe she wasn’t able-bodied, though if that was the case, why was she strutting in those four-inch stiletto heels? And here’s the kicker. The bag was gorgeous, big, black, and Chanel. I stared at her in disbelief. Isn’t one of the benefits of owning a prestige purse like that, actually wearing it?!

Streets of San Francisco

I’m visiting my gorgeous former hometown for the weekend. I’ll be catching up with friends, checking out the de Young Museum in Golden Gate Park, and going shopping at Diana Slavin Womenswear.

This photo by Miguel Torres is part of a series called Wall in Bloom, shot in the Mission District.

Goodbye Gourmet. Hello Meatballs and Spaghetti

This week, the demise of Gourmet was announced. It shocked me, since it seemed that the magazine, first published in 1940, would always be there to kick around. The recipes were buried between too many travel and lifestyle photos, and I stopped being a fan years ago. For my last birthday, a friend gave me a subscription to Gourmet. I was not sad when it ran out.

Cooks Illustrated (from America’s Test Kitchen) is my favorite cooking magazine. The recipes are tested and re-tested and virtually foolproof. There are no ads or extraneous fluff, and I learn something each time I leaf through the pages. (Like using coffee filters as a cover for food in the microwave.) I’ve recently added a new cookbook to my collection, also from America’s Test Kitchen, Cooking for Two. I’ve made their Meatballs and Spaghetti recipe several times, and it’s delicious. And because I’m a pasta freak, next up is Lasagna.

Michelle and Barack Have Great Taste in Art

I hadn’t thought much about White House art, until I read a piece in today’s New York Times that listed the paintings the Obamas selected to hang in their private residence, and the West and East Wings. Their choices were bold and modern, and included many well-known artists like Mark Rothko and Jasper Johns, and also an African-American abstract painter, Alma Thomas, whom I’m cramming to learn more about. Here are a few facts. She was born in Georgia, raised in Washington, D.C., and accomplished the near impossible, irrespective of race, becoming a successful artist during her lifetime. Alma was the first woman to graduate from Howard University with a Fine Arts degree, and the first African-American woman to have a solo show at the Whitney Museum of American Art.

This painting, Watusi (Hard Edge) by Alma Thomas, 1963, is now on loan to the White House.

Fashion Forecast

I came across this great video clip from the 1930’s, forecasting what clothes would look like in the year 2000. Most of the predictions are absurd, but they did foresee a few things, like the cantilevered heel, a version of which showed up in Marc Jacob’s 2008 collection (as seen above), and phones that would fit in a man’s garment.

The American Dream

BRENT is the fake name my father used to give when he phoned for reservations. He assumed this name because it was easier to spell than Braitman, and it didn’t sound Jewish. At the time, for my first-generation American parents living in the shadow of anti-Semitism, it felt like a safer way to connect with strangers. I longed for my own Wasp-y way out, and fantasized that my husband’s last name would turn me into a Wendy Brent or a Wendy James.

So much for make believe. There was a famous flesh and blood Brent, but she wasn’t a Protestant. Margaret Brent, born in 1601 was a Catholic, who fled England to the American colonies in search of religious freedom. I’ve been keeping tabs on her for my “Single Women’s Hall of Fame,” and was reminded of this yesterday, on the anniversary of the land grant she received on October 4, 1639, which made her one of the first Colonial women to be a landowner. She ended up acquiring almost 1000 acres, some of which she called, “Sister’s Freehold.” She was also a successful attorney and entrepreneur (practically unheard of for a woman) and most notably, 200 years before the organized call for women’s rights, Margaret Brent went in front of the Maryland Assembly and demanded the right to vote. (They said no.)