Language needs a few new relationship words. Particularly boyfriend.

I’ll allow the issue of boy having a troubled history to speak for itself. Except to add that Black jazz musicians in the 40s began calling each other man because of the Jim Crow practice of referring to them as boys. This then is the root of the all-encompassing pronoun-slash-exclamation man used by most musicians, then bleeding into beatniks and out to many other bonded male groups: athletes, actors, (poets?).

But also, while women don’t mind (even, in my case, prefer) to be called girls, men don’t usually refer to themselves, individually, as boys. As in I’m a boy who likes ___. Yes, there’s the old standard one of the boys. Or boys’ night out. Or even my boys (although that could mean the male anatomy that comes in a pair, but I’ve never heard a woman refer to her breasts or ovaries as “my girls.”)

Then Thanksgiving arrived.  That was sort of awkward, everyone suddenly had plans and had made arrangements and as usual, I hadn’t even thought about it.  Amy Weissmann came to my rescue though and invited me to her house in New York.  As it turned out she lived in Rye which wasn’t actually in New York like she always made it sound.  It was more like a suburb.  But she said we could still go shopping and go to record stores and everything.  That sounded great.  Visiting New York was one of my all time dreams.

Your new book is called Dream School. What’s it about?

It’s the sequel to my novel Girl, which was about a high school girl discovering the alternative music scene in the 1990s. Dream School is that same girl in college.