I’ve never had an especially  bad time in France. Maybe Marseille, terrible times, dog bones in a loft,  crushed  40s of Kronenbourg,  just miserable, hot, it’s always hot. But in general the French vibe works. Wines all day, cigarettes, fancy dogs, parasol stores — killer vibes for a tourist. A bar with four or five  bar stools, maybe 300 square feet, just filled with plants — ferns, succulents and other various plants just fucking everywhere, a large maybe grey, long haired cat moving around inside, and of course an absolutely stunning woman sitting way nice, casually pounding some wine. A tourist is a goner in a place like that. Most of time you can’t quite be sure if it’s a ruse. I have a picture of a tiny dog, a Jack Russel terrior, looking just so, sitting in midday light, tied up by a tiny delicate string, plopped down in front a scarf store. Just scarves…

~Excerpt from “One More Time,” by Dennis Spina, Chef, Roebling Tea Room

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1991: The NYTimes takes on the Sunday Scaries

Those who stay up and drink too much on weekends do not need expert advice on why they feel out of sorts on Sunday. Abuse of alcohol and other drugs can turn Sundays into a land of the living dead, compounding any existing physical or emotional complaint. A Price for Weekend Leisure

Genetic or Not, Gay Won’t Go Away

Among adults, the right to love whom you’re moved to love — and to express it through sex and maybe, yes, marriage — is surely as vital to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness as a Glock. And it’s a lot less likely to cause injury, if that’s a deciding factor: how a person’s actions affect the community around him or her.

NYTimes