On Miranda


In which The Gay Recluse appreciates Miranda.

Many years ago we had a friend named Miranda. She was the coolest! She wore the smallest backpack ever! It was gold and she used it to carry her cigarettes in it and nothing else, and even that was a tight fit. She was a photographer and a filmmaker and we always loved seeing her at art openings — and she seemed to be at every single one — because she was very enthusiastic about everything we did! Some of our other enemies friends hated her, which we never understood. “She just wants to be famous!” they said. “That’s what’s so great about her!” we always insisted.

We have no idea where Miranda is now. Maybe she went back to her notoriously dysfunctional family in Connecticut. Or maybe she’s a huge filmmaker in Hollywood! But we think of her often because of a vine we bought last year, which for some reason is also called Miranda. It’s a variegated form of the climbing hydrangea. (Coincidentally, we bought it at a nursery in Connecticut.)

Here’s a picture of Miranda in our garden:

Hello, climbing hydrangea ‘Miranda’: You are indeed a beautiful plant whose variegated splendor does much to improve our garden! We always wonder exactly who you are named after. Could it be our East Village friend Miranda, who we haven’t seen in so many years?

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