New York Dolls' David Johansen Diagnosed With Stage 4 Cancer, Crowdfunding Treatment
David Johansen, the singer in influential 1970s proto-punk band New York Dolls and who also goes by the pseudonym Buster Poindexter, has been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. His daughter, Leah Hennessey, launched a Sweet Relief fundraiser to help cover the costs of his treatment and care. In the post, she revealed that Johansen has actually been undergoing intensive cancer treatment for 'most of the past decade,' and that, in 2020, it progressed and he developed a brain tumor.
'He's never made his diagnosis public, as he and my mother Mara are generally very private people, but we feel compelled to share this now, due to the increasingly severe financial burden our family is facing,' Hennessey wrote on the fundraiser. 'To make matters worse, the day after Thanksgiving David fell down the stairs and broke his back in two places. After a week in the hospital and a successful surgery David has been bedridden and incapacitated. Due to the trauma, David's illness has progressed exponentially and my mother is caring for him around the clock.'
All donations to the Sweet Relief fund in Johansen's name will go towards the costs of full time nursing, physical therapy, and funding for day-to-day vital living expenses for the musician. 'With professional specialized care, we are hopeful that David can regain some mobility and independence,' his daughter wrote.
In a statement shared by Brooklyn Vegan, Johansen added: 'We've been living with my illness for a long time, still having fun, seeing friends and family, carrying on, but this tumble the day after Thanksgiving really brought us to a whole new level of debilitation. This is the worst pain I've ever experienced in my entire life. I've never been one to ask for help, but this is an emergency. Thank you.'
*One Day It Will Please Us to Remember Even This*
Glam-punk pioneers stage an unlikely and possibly unwelcome comeback.
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Eater
2 hours ago
- Eater
Tracking the NYC Restaurants in ‘And Just Like That...' Series Finale, Season 3, Episode 12
is a born-and-raised New Yorker who is an editor for Eater's Northeast region and Eater New York, was the former Eater Austin editor for 10 years, and often writes about food and pop culture. And just like that, HBO Max's Sex and the City sequel series returns for its third and FINAL season. And Just Like That... brings back our long-time New Yorkers Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker), Miranda (Cynthia Nixon), and Charlotte (Kristin Davis), as well as relative newcomers Seema (Sarita Choudhury) and Lisa (Nicole Ari Parker), to our televisions and laptops. What is summer and fall without our gals talking candidly about sex, making bad puns, and dining and drinking around the city? Like previous seasons, Eater will be tracking where the gang is eating across New York City, from brunch sessions to romantic dinners to cocktail dates. This guide will be updated weekly when each episode airs on Thursdays at 9 p.m., leading up to the finale, which is tonight (!). And we're saying it now: there will be spoilers ahead. Episode 12, 'Party of One ' This is the end, my friend. We're at the SERIES FINALE of And Just Like That… There are perhaps too many loose threads to tie up: will Carrie stay solo or start dating a random dude? Will Miranda and Joy work through their issues? Will Harry be able to have sex with Charlotte? Will Samantha come back? How many pies will be consumed during the Thanksgiving dinner? We get some answers to some of these questions — the on-the-nose revision to Carrie's epilogue of her novel says it all: 'She was on her own.' Elsewhere, we have a pretty wedding dress fashion show as Seema ponders if she wants to get married; Lisa exchanges vows with Herbert even though he's going through a tough time; Charlotte sleeps with a post-cancer-surgery Harry; and Miranda and Joy show up for each other for their respective important moments of life, while Miranda deals with a gross clogged toilet (why?). But before we go, I am pleased that the finale is paying homage to the tradition of Thanksgiving episodes taking place in New York City. See: Gossip Girl, Friends, How I Met Your Mother. The November holiday brings people together amidst drama. In this series finale, Brady is in charge of Thanksgiving dinner at Miranda's, but Carrie has to watch the roasting turkey (unsuccessfully) while he hunts for cucumbers, brown rice, and seaweed for the mother of his child. We also see him blending mashed potatoes while holding up a carton of milk. Alas, the episode skips straight over the actual dinner. So here we go: 138-23 39th Avenue, near Union Street, Flushing Gasp: Carrie Bradshaw ventures out into Queens to dine solo and chooses this hot pot restaurant because, as she explains to the host, 'I was just walking by and it looks so interesting.' What do you think she was doing in Flushing? Carrie crosses paths with a robot server and says 'excuse me' to it. She's set up in a booth and isn't sure how or what to order from the tablet menu (I suppose the restaurants she's frequented have only had paper menus, even during contactless COVID times). Carrie is scrolling through the menu when a (human) server comes by, and she asks for recommendations. The server says spicy broth, shrimp, and bok choy, but then he says to pick two (which actually isn't clear, two what?). He leaves, and a host comes by, lugging a hefty, oversized stuffed tomato boy creature named Tommy Tomato, and places him on the other side of her booth. Carrie is rightly bewildered, but the host explains it's so she doesn't have to eat alone. I don't know about Carrie, but I will fight anyone who gets in Tommy Tomato's way. Later on, Carrie recounts her 'lunch with a side of shame,' to which Charlotte responds that they should leave a review on Yelp. Later on, Carrie calls it her 'lunch with a doll' and wonders whether she can accept being alone. 35-01 36th Street at 35th Street, Astoria Miranda is clearly fond of Mexican restaurants, isn't she? This time, she and Steve are dining at the Queens Mexican restaurant to discuss their son and the forthcoming grandkid. They ordered enchiladas suizas and enchiladas rosa. They talk about Thanksgiving, but Steve isn't coming because he doesn't want it to become a thing since Brady is still mad at him for his outburst, Brady's preference for oat milk, and the fact that they're going to have a grandkid. 401 East 90th Street, near First Avenue, Upper East Side If you get to know me IRL, you'll learn that I love pie! Okay, so last week, I couldn't identify the pie bakery in that episode, and many helpful people wrote in to share their guesses as to what the mysterious-to-me pie shop was. It turns out — thanks to a single tipster who got it right and the helpful awning with an address pictured in this episode — the Petite Pie Place is Michaeli's Bakery (which shared the news on its Instagram). Other potential options included Petee's Pies (which I was digging into, but nixed) and Little Pie Company, since Sarah Jessica Parker is a noted fan of the bakery (perhaps this chosen fake name was in homage to it, too). But also, the Israeli bakery does not sell pie. Anyway, we see Carrie leave the bakery with the pies she preordered, wearing an epic magenta dress with a sequined top, fluffy skirt, and amazing hat. She's the pie fairy, dropping the sweets at her friends' places. First, the Charlotte household gets a pumpkin-looking pie; then Lisa's family gets an apple crisp pie. Next is the 'gluten-free imposter' for Seema, in a perfectly timed car-to-car exchange, and Anthony with his chocolate cream pie. Finally, she arrives at Miranda's place with the rest of the order. We end the episode with Carrie back in her apartment with her pie as she blares Barry White and sings and dances while digging into her sweet amidst a montage of the other ladies eating their pies with their loved ones. Giuseppe smashes the cream pie in Anthony's face, but they laugh and kiss about it; Charlotte et. al. eat pie while looking at Rock's play photos; Miranda and Joy dig into the good pumpkin pie; and Herbert enjoys a second piece of pie while telling Lisa she can relax. And just like that, we're done with the Sex and the City spinoff. It wasn't a wholly satisfying ending — but here's hoping Carrie finds peace with herself and Shoe the kitten. Eater NY All your essential food and restaurant intel delivered to you Email (required) Sign Up By submitting your email, you agree to our Terms and Privacy Notice . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.
USA Today
2 hours ago
- USA Today
'And Just Like That' series finale is a major letdown, for Carrie Bradshaw and her fans
Spoiler alert! The following story contains details about the series finale of "Sex and the City" sequel "And Just Like That..." (now streaming on HBO Max). You know that old Bible verse: 'Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; my toilet runneth over.' It sounds a lot like the series finale of 'And Just Like That…,' which launched unholy scatological warfare against our beloved Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker), who had merely hoped to spend a lovely Thanksgiving dinner with her dear friends after her romances with Aidan (John Corbett) and Duncan (Jonathan Cake) fizzled. Instead, Carrie's holiday is filled with a revolving door of haughty art dealers and Gen Z queerdos, one of whom clogs the toilet and expels a sea of brown that Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) is forced to clean up. A magical land called Manhattan, this is not. In some ways, it's an apropos ending for 'And Just Like That…,' which in three seasons found stunning new ways to humiliate and torture our 'Sex and the City' heroines. An entire episode devoted to Charlotte (Kristin Davis) feuding at the dog park? Send the meteor. Carrie listening to Aidan masturbate in his truck after he imposes a five-year break to focus on his kids? Virginia is not bad enough — truly, take him to the Hague. Like dutiful piggies awaiting their slop, we tuned in every week to see what fresh hell was in store for these once-nuanced characters, who during the original 1998-2004 run of HBO's 'Sex and the City,' were as scintillating as a fresh pair of Manolos. 'Sex' was the rare show that could tackle infertility and exhibitionist kinks in the same breath; it never spoke down to its viewers nor judged its central foursome. (Kim Cattrall, who played the voracious and va-va-voom Samantha, wisely sat out the sequel series.) Meanwhile, 'And Just Like That…' could never figure out what kind of show it wanted to be. The original cast was whiter than Miley Cyrus' veneers, and creator Michael Patrick King attempted to rectify that by adding a slew of racially and sexually diverse new characters. But despite the best efforts of Sarita Choudhury (as Seema) and Nicole Ari Parker (as Lisa), their shoehorned storylines contained neither logic nor depth. At least we'll always have the memory of Che Diaz (Sara Ramirez) and their comedy concerts. More egregiously, after spending the entire first season grieving her husband, Mr. Big (Chris Noth), we naïvely hoped that Carrie would dip her toe back into the dating pool as an older yet no less adventurous woman. Instead, the writers dredged up her past, wasting the next two seasons on a stagnant relationship with Aidan that merely rehashed their pent-up resentments and insecurities. The series finale finds Carrie confronting her singledom and asking herself, "Who will I be alone?" It's a worthwhile question: According to a 2020 survey by the Pew Research Center, 29% of women between the ages of 50 and 64 are single; that number jumps to 49% for women over 65. "And Just Like That..." had an opportunity to show the pains and glories of single life for women like Carrie, who was once a witty, wide-eyed emblem for hopeless romantics everywhere. Instead, the final episode almost looks down on Carrie's relationship status with pity. When she goes stag to a Chinese restaurant, servers plop a plush doll in the seat across from her "so you don't have to eat alone." On Thanksgiving Day, she goes door to door delivering pies to her closest pals, most of whom are too busy with their respective families and partners to celebrate with her. For a show that's long insisted that all you really need are your best girlfriends, it's disappointing that Carrie spends practically the entire episode in the company of strangers. "I have to stop thinking, 'Maybe a man,' and start accepting maybe just me," Carrie tells Charlotte early in the episode. "It's not a tragedy, it's a fact." And in the final scene of the series, Carrie eats dessert alone in her kitchen before dancing around her cavernous townhouse to Barry White's "You're the First, the Last, My Everything." It's a sweet sentiment of self-love, but one that feels too tacked on and hastily written to pack an emotional wallop. And after nearly 30 years of knowing and loving Carrie, she deserved far better than this treacly Hallmark sendoff. On Aug. 1, when King announced "And Just Like That..." was ending, Parker penned a lengthy tribute on social media that made me tear up, capturing the wild, wonderful whims of our cosmo-sipping fashionista in all of her beautiful messiness. "Carrie Bradshaw has dominated my professional heartbeat for 27 years," the actress wrote. "I think I have loved her most of all." You can flush the rest – that's how we'll choose to remember "Sex and the City."
Los Angeles Times
2 hours ago
- Los Angeles Times
‘And Just Like That' is finished. We discuss the good, the bad, the pie and the poop
'And Just Like That,' it's over. Earlier this month, showrunner Michael Patrick King informed the world that the long-awaited, highly anticipated and then almost universally hated sequel to HBO's groundbreaking series 'Sex and the City' would end. Mere weeks later, it did just that and rather abruptly, with two Thanksgiving-themed episodes, which felt a bit odd in these dog days of summer. But at least it allowed the writers to box up and tie off all the various storylines as if they were the medley of pies Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) picks up and delivers to all her friends during the show's finale. If you think those pies denote happiness, you would be right. The main feast at Miranda's (Cynthia Nixon) apartment falls far short of perfection — loads of no-shows, the appearance of chef Brady's (Niall Cunningham) passive-aggressive baby mama, an undercooked turkey and a toilet disaster — but in the end, every character is left wallowing in peace and satisfaction. Miranda lowers her defenses enough to tell Joy (Dolly Wells) that she is a recovering alcoholic, to which Joy responds with deep understanding. Prostate cancer survivor Harry (Evan Handler) becomes fully, er, functional again and in the afterglow, Charlotte (Kristin Davis) finally surrenders the girly expectations she once had for her nonbinary daughter Rock (Alexa Swinton). After fleeting concern that her crunchy gardener lover Adam (Logan Marshall-Green) doesn't believe in big weddings or even marriage, Seema (Sarita Choudhury) accepts that true, and committed, love comes in all shapes and sizes. As do Anthony (Mario Cantone) and Giuseppe (Sebastiano Pigazzi). Whether Lisa's (Nicole Ari Parker) renewed devotion to husband Herbert (Christopher Jackson) counts as a happy ending is open to debate, but at least he seems to be letting go of his 'humiliating' loss in the New York City comptroller race. As for Carrie, well, after her renewed romance with Aidan (John Corbett) became blighted by mistrust, she had a lovely brief affair with Duncan (Jonathan Cake), the British biographer living in the basement of her townhouse. But in the end, she decides, via the novel that served as this season's voice-over, that life in a fabulous Manhattan apartment with a closet that looks like it was shipped from 'The Devil Wears Prada' costume department and a group of fine faithful friends (including a cantankerous baker who allows her to order pies long past the pie-ordering deadline), does not require a man to be complete. Culture critic Mary McNamara, staff writer Yvonne Villarreal and television editor Maira Garcia compare notes on the end of one of the most discussed, if not beloved, reboots in television history. Mary McNamara: When I wrote about 'And Just Like That' a month ago, I expressed my hope that Season 3 would be the last, so I feel nothing but relief (though had I known the universe was in listening mode, I would have also mentioned wanting to win the lottery and a few other things). I am not worried, as others appear to be, about the legacy of 'Sex and the City,' which is all around us in series as disparate as 'Broad City,' 'Fleabag' and 'Insecure.' Nor do I think that the failure of 'And Just Like That' has anything to do with the current political climate or the rise of the trad wife or whatever hot takes seem handy. It was simply and consistently a very bad TV show. I tuned in initially because, like many, I was excited to see how these characters were coping with late middle-age life — by apparently not experiencing menopause for one thing (an early indication that female authenticity had fallen by the wayside) or developing any sort of interior life. Real crises — Carrie losing Big and 'dealing' with Aidan's troubled son, Miranda discovering her queerness and alcoholism, Charlotte struggling to cope with her daughter's gender fluidity and her husband's cancer — were treated performatively, as plot twists to underline, apparently, the resilience of each character and the core friendship. Not a bad objective, but the hurdles, which increasing felt like a whiteboard checklist (podcasts! pronouns! prostate cancer!), came and went so fast they quickly became laughable (and not in the comedic sense), culminating with Lisa's father dying twice. I kept watching, as many did, not because I loved hating it, but because there was a good show in there somewhere and I kept waiting for it to emerge. When it didn't — well, the Thanksgiving/pie finale was a bit much — I honestly didn't care how it ended, as long as it did. Maira Garcia: Mary, after you wrote your column, I decided to take a break from the show because it summarized some of my frustrations with the reboot that seemed to come to a head this season — Aidan's unrealistic expectations for his relationship with Carrie, the perfunctory way it addressed ADHD, the lack of rugs on Carrie's floors. Of course my break didn't last long because I caught up and now I'm here wondering what it was all about and what it could have been. While the line from King and Parker is that this season felt like a good place for the show to end, based on the number of developing storylines, like Brady becoming a father, I have a very hard time believing it. But the problem of how to fix this show was too big — it was better that they ended on this chapter (whether or not that decision was made by them). I think like many viewers, I just wanted to enjoy spending some time with these ladies again at a later stage in life after a couple of decades with them through reruns and the films. But this was something else and while the addition of new characters seemed well-intentioned, they either lacked dimension, meaty storylines or were plain annoying (ahem, Che) — except for Seema. I love Seema. Please get Sarita Choudhury a spinoff. Yvonne Villarreal: Uh, is it sad that I'm sad? I know, I know. But, look, I feel like the girl who cried 'Che?!' too many times and now it's real and it's like I've been mentally placed in that insane DIY mini foyer of Carrie's old apartment trying to emotionally find my way out. Like you, Mary, I've been frustrated endlessly by the series and have long felt like it needed to be put out of its misery, but I still dutifully watched every episode with a weird mix of enthusiasm and dread — and the community that grew (in my TikTok algorithm and in my group texts) from that shared experience was oddly one of the bright spots. So for HBO Max to call my bluff by actually ending it still feels like a breakup as flabbergasting — albeit, necessary — as Berger's Post-it note peace-out. I came in ready to approach this stage of my relationship to these characters the same way I approach the friendships I've maintained the longest — excited to catch up once our schedules aligned, trying to fill in the blanks from the long absence caused by life, but still recognizing the foundation of who they are and how they're choosing to navigate life's curveballs. But with each passing episode, it always seemed like I was at the wrong table, perplexed and trying not to be rude with all the 'But why?' questions. Miranda's quote from this week's finale, as she took in the most bizarre Thanksgiving dinner television has ever put onscreen, felt like the epilogue to my experience watching it all: 'I'm not sure exactly what's happening now, but let's all take a breath.' I will mourn the potential of what this series could have been. Like Carrie's playful tiptoe stride through the streets in heels, the show pranced around topics that, had it walked through them with intention, would have given the series traces of its former self. That friend moment between Seema and Carrie outside the hair salon in Season 2 — where the former is reluctantly but bravely expressing that she feels like she's being dropped now that Aidan is back in the picture — was such a genuine peek at the vulnerability between friends that so many of us valued from the original series. And that moment from this week's finale, where the women are gathered at a bridal runway show, sharing their varying feelings on marriage at this stage in their life — I just wanted to shout, 'MICHAEL PATRICK KING, this is what I wanted more of!' Though, I would have preferred if they were around a table, looking at each other as they shared and unpacked. I wanted an extended scene of that, not Carrie ordering pies! I don't like to be teased with goodness. And that's how it often felt. Also, I know it's a comedy, although the decision to lean into the sitcom style of humor remains perplexing (Harry and Charlotte, I'm looking at you), but I felt like there was a way to explore grief — the death of Mr. Big and Stanford, plus the strain on the group's friendship with Samantha — in a way that felt truer to the characters and the style of the show. Heck, even Miranda's drinking problem was squandered. I feel like the loss of a spouse (through death, divorce or emotional distance), the fading out of friendships and reconsideration of lifestyle habits are the most talked-about topics in my friend group at this stage in my life — sometimes the convos happen while we're huddled around a Chili's triple dipper, which is as bleak and real as it gets. And I'm sorry, but if I were to use one of those outings, when I'm in my mid-50s, to tell them an ex wants me to wait five years while he focuses on being a toxic parent before we can really be together, they'd slap me with a fried mozzarella stick — I will never forgive the writers for how lobotomized these characters feel. Mary and Maira, how did you feel about how the show handled its biggest absences? The show began in such a different place than where it ends — did it evolve in the right direction? Where did it go right for you? McNamara: Oh Yvonne, you are so much kinder than I am. I never felt it was going right — the writers seemed so determined to prove that women in their 50s aren't boring that they constantly forced them into all manner of absurd situations without much thought for what kind of actual women these characters might have become. Age was represented mostly by bizarre, grannified reactions to younger folk and their strange ways (up until the finale, which gave us that baby mama and her buddy Epcot), as if the women (and the writers) had been kept in a shoe box for 20 years. Looking back, the lack of Samantha, and Cattrall, feels like a deal-breaker. For all her campy affectations, Samantha was always the most grounded of the characters, able to cut to the heart of things with a witty line, biting comment or just a simple truth. Seema, and Choudhury, did her best to fill that void, but she never got quite enough room to work — her relationship was almost exclusively with Carrie for one thing and Carrie was, even more than in 'Sex and the City,' the driving force of the show. I agree that grief was given very short shrift, and the fact that no one seemed to miss Samantha very much, or be in touch with her at all (beyond the few exchanges with Carrie) was both bizarre and a shame — coping with the loss of a dear friend, through misunderstanding or distance, is a rich topic and one that many people deal with. As for the resurrection of Aidan, well, who thought that was going to work? Especially when it became clear that the writers thought it made perfect sense to keep Carrie and Aidan's children separate — so unbelievable, and demeaning to both characters. Carrie's final 'revelation' that a woman doesn't need a man to be happy would have had a much more meaningful resonance if Carrie had been allowed to explore her grief, fear, frustration and hope beyond a few platitude-laden conversations and that god-awful novel. Which, quite honestly, was the funniest thing about this season. When her agent went bananas over it, I literally walked out of the room. Garcia: Samantha, and Cattrall in turn, were sorely missed. And you're right, Mary, Seema filled some of that void, and you really need that connection across the different characters. Which leads me to my biggest gripe: Why did some characters feel so distant? Lisa's storyline this season was so disconnected from the rest — it seemed like she was with the core group only in passing. And it happened with Nya (Karen Pittman), who disappeared after Season 2, though that had to do with scheduling conflicts. As far as its evolution, I was glad to see the podcast group, with its overbearing members, whittled away — though we had to deal with Che for another season. Those overbearing characters kept getting replaced with other overbearing characters like Giuseppe's mother, played by Patti LuPone, and Brady's baby mama and her odd pals (if the writers were trying to get us to scratch our heads at Gen Z, they did it). While I'll miss being able to turn my brain off for an hour each week, along with the occasional shouts at my TV over some silly line or moment, I can't say I was satisfied in the end. At least when someone said or did something stupid in previous iterations of the show, it was acknowledged in a way that felt true the characters and there was some growth expressed. After the return of Aidan, I can't say that's true here. But now that we're at the end, I have to ask you both how this affects the SATC universe? Did this disrupt the canon? Was there something memorable you'll take away at least? A character, a moment, a ridiculously oversized piece of jewelry, hat or bag? Villarreal: Oh geez. There's no question — for me, at least — where this sequel falls in the SATC universe. The original series, even with its moments that didn't stand the test of time, will always be supreme; the first movie, while hardly perfect, gave us some memorable BFF moments — like Charlotte giving Big eye daggers after he left Carrie at the altar or Samantha feeding a heartbroken Carrie — that keep it in my rewatch rotation. I'd place 'And Just Like That …' after that, with the Abu Dhabi getaway movie dead last. What will I miss? For sure the fashion moments, especially the ones that broke my brain, like Carrie's Michelin Man snowstorm getup or her recent gingham headwear disaster that my former colleague Meredith Blake described as Strawberry Shortcake … and don't get me started on Lisa's jumbo balls of twine necklace. I'm curious, Mary, as someone who has watched your share of series finales, how you felt about this conclusion and whether it served that mission. This season had episodes that felt like wasted filler and didn't do much to move the plot forward. Last week's penultimate episode is what convinced me the wrapping up of this series was not planned. It was 28 minutes of huh? And what about Carrie's book? I would add it to my Kindle just out of curiosity. While I maybe would have seen all that's transpired as an opportunity for Carrie to write a memoir on love and loss à la Carole Radziwill, I did get a kick out of the excerpts from Carrie's take on a 19th century woman having an existential crisis. And look, maybe I'm schmaltzy, but I did sort of love the last line she tacked on in her epilogue: 'The woman realized, she was not alone — she was on her own.' Mary, are you judging me right now? I promise I didn't dance to Barry White's 'You're the First, the Last, My Everything' through the halls of my apartment after watching. But I would have loved more exploration of that thread sooner — I mean, aren't there studies about women being happier, or at least less stressed, later in life once their spouse dies? I believe it! It doesn't mean you can't have companionship in other ways. Anyway, what's the takeaway from what happened with this show? Hollywood isn't going to stop trying to find new life in established properties. So, what can be learned from what went wrong here? McNamara: Yvonne! I would never judge you! And the world would be a far better place if everyone danced around their domiciles more often. I think Carrie realizing that her life is full and happy without a partner is actually a perfect way to end this series. (She will certainly never want for romance — So. Much. Tulle.) I just wish it had felt less rushed and did not involve a weird giant plushie at a robot restaurant. Whatever sequence of events led to the final scene, I have to believe that was going to be Carrie's journey all along. I even liked the debate over the ending of her book — if only the book had not been so terrible! I will certainly miss marveling at Parker's Olympics-worthy ability to navigate nearly any surface in heels (and 'sell' outfits that seem more like Halloween costumes than style) as well as those rare conversations, like the one at the bridal show, that allowed a situation to be viewed from multiple points of view. As for the finale, it felt very much in keeping with the intention, if not the overall execution, of the series. I am not cold-hearted enough to want any of these characters to depart mid-crisis or accept less than a happy life. Sure, it was a bit pat, with everyone's story neatly boxed up like a Thanksgiving pie. But who doesn't like pie? Garcia: I love pie! But let's not forget, like the toilet that overflowed (with a few logs, to boot) in the final scenes, too much of something isn't always what we need. Villarreal: Is this a safe space to share that if the girls make up with Samantha/Cattrall in their 70s, I'll be ready for their return to my screen? Sorry, not sorry — I don't have time to set healthy boundaries with friendships that are no longer serving me.
