I have been a bad blogger this year – too much work and other stuff getting in the way – but I am going to try to do better. In the meantime, I am still reeling from the unexpected loss of my friend, the brilliant and incomparable Alan Rickman.


My son and I saw him in London at summer’s end and he was in fine form. When he said, “Your mother is one of my oldest friends” to my son, it meant the world to us.


Much has been written about Alan elsewhere, and all I want to say here is that he will be truly, madly, deeply missed – not just by me and all who loved him personally, but by the millions of fans who learned what great acting is by hearing that magical voice and seeing him on stage or in the movies. It is a heartbreaking, shattering loss.



Like many who knew and loved Anita, I was shocked by her death, which was announced last night. My Facebook feed blew up as so many people of our NYC era felt compelled, as I did, to say something about this remarkable woman.


I met Anita when she was the DJ at the Mudd Club, my home away from home on weekends. My pal, the brilliant designer Robert Molnar, worked the door and very kindly let me in for free as I usually didn’t have the cash to pay the paltry entrance fee. Anita and I got to talking every time I was there and I was always in awe not just of her glamazon style but the depth of her musical knowledge. Everyone knew her. Everyone wanted to be her.


We stayed in touch sporadically over the years and I recently saw her at Marcus Leatherdale’s photo show in April. She looked amazing and was full of energy and her usual wit and we made plans to make plans, and then I got super-busy…as we do. And now she’s gone.


My friend Vivien Goldman made an especially brutal and honest observation that women of a certain age, once lauded for their skills and their savvy and their perennial grooviness, now have no value in our society. The writer Michael Musto made the same comment – that Anita felt marginalized and despaired of her professional future. I totally understand the feeling. The NYC world we came of age in doesn’t exist any more. I am very lucky to have a niche as a ghostwriter now because there is no way I could have survived as a journalist – which Anita evidently struggled with as she tried to reinvent herself. (It must have been especially disheartening when 22-year-old idiots are paid six figures to DJ a party and she couldn’t get work.)



That she succumbed to the depression lurking in all of us is heartbreaking.



So many Lurchers, so little time. How times flies when I’m glued to my desk and the world (aka the Republicans in Congress) descends into chaos! Honestly, there are so many ridiculous things to comment about that I’m sorry I’ve been so busy (and am about to get busier). ┬áLet me just say that I sometimes wish for a healthier dollop of Decrepitude whenever I try to parse one of the sentences that spews forth from the Donald. Have you noticed his extremely peculiar manner of talking? He says “very” very often; makes an idiotic pronouncement; then sort of tries to backpedal.


I mention this only because it’s a lot easier to focus on his grammar than to realize American citizens actually think he is worth voting for.




You may have noticed my absence for the last week. Blame Apple. (I sure can’t blame whoever did what was done in the photo here! LOL) Blame this rotten MacBook Pro that has been defective from day one. They had to replace the logic board and the computer seems to be working better than it ever has….for now (knock wood). I hate it and the smug faces of the Geniuses who say they never need to replace defective computers because “they can always be fixed.” So….I was machine-less and stressed-out, and now that I’m back up, I am so crazed on deadline that I need to take a summer hiatus from Lurching. There’s lots to Lurch about (especially the bilge spewed by The Donald–what a chump!) and I am feeling more Decrepit than even but I’ll have to bite my tongue and vent in a tizzy in September. See you then.



Back in the Middle Ages when I was growing up, there were certain TV shows we loved to watch: The Man from U.N.C.L.E, The Prisoner, and The Avengers. Shows Lurchers should know well.


One of the reasons I loved The Avengers so much wasn’t just due to Diana Rigg’s saucy sexiness as Mrs. Peel–it was the sophisticated banter and the sexual tension she had with her costar, Patrick Macnee, who just died at the age of 93.


With his bowler hat and his furled umbrella (concealing a weapon; after fighting for years WWII, he refused to carry a gun, even on a TV show, bless his heart), he had a naughty twinkle and a delicious smile that made him extra-compelling to watch for a little girl who’d never seen an Englishman like that before, much less believed they existed.


Once Diana left the show, it lost some of its luster, but Patrick never lost his.