The Loving Story: HBO on Tuesday at 9

I spend my nights the way most New Yorkers do, embracing my apartment’s quietude, clutching its peacefulness to me the way an emphysematic does their oxygen–the nights are precious because the days are filled with so much noise and shouting and crowded sidewalks and no seat on the subway and people richer than anyone needs to be and those poorer than any nation should allow.  You learn a lot of zen, walking around this town.  My nightime quietude is also fragile; it’s nothing more than a decision reversible at any time, which renders it lovelier.  There’s loads I could be doing out at night, in the Naked City.  My apartment is on the 16th floor, and sometimes the night skyline beckons brightly.  Sometimes I remember Updike’s quote about New York being the only city which, even when you’re in it, glitters at a distance.  Sometimes I grab my coat and go out to see the creative, the fabulous, the city’s blind rush towards the future and (far more interesting to me) its reflection on the past. Continue reading →