As a New Yorker, it’s not a hard city to love when the literal metaphor of a mask is littered everywhere—when there’s art oozing out of every corner.
“Even if his first name is Santa, he’s no saint to me.”
“Small and dark and slanted eyed like me.”
“Applebee’s, golf, and Buffalo Wild Wings are terrible.”
“We’re a bunch of slanted-eyed brown girls watching wide-eyed white girls being chased by a killer.”
“Godzilla helped give me my moral compass.”
CLASH Media catches up with Constance Ann Fitzgerald and talks about her new book, Glue.
“My grandmother made Christmas ornaments from dried apricots and sugar cookies that she baked with her own hands, a creation upon a creation. They were all tiny women, and she gave them dark hair like us, which felt like a gift to me.”
“Our abuelitas went to special masses and some of the nativity sets under our trees featured a baby Jesus that had slightly darker skin than the Jesus the gringos put under their tree.”
“Whether you think Christmas is shit or Christmas is the shit, when you are Catalan, your Christmas is going to be full of shit. And I mean literally. And no, it doesn’t get that dirty (usually).”
“When I saw the mall Santas I always knew it was a man in a suit.”
“I grew up with a grandma who kept a bathroom full of candles for the dead.”
“I remember being so happy then—a creature that stayed out too late one Halloween night and got lost in the morning light.”
“Maybe New Orleans is like a drug, an opium-induced dreamspace.”
“The Swedish Academy is full of elderly individuals who are apparently too tired to read thick novels.”
“So. I’ll just say it. Elves. Is it true that you all really believe in them?”
“I came across this news article talking about how Italian museums covered statues of nude women in order to avoid offending the president of Iran.
I’m sorry, but what is this shit?”