Imagine it’s the wee hours of Nov. 9, 2016. And you just found out that Donald J. Trump has been elected president. You are weighing the quickness of a bullet to the brain against the tranquility of a plummet off a seaside cliff.
Then your phone pings with a series of news alerts. Continue reading “Don’t be so blue, Dems!”
I just found out about the recent death of the guy who sliced open my gut to save my life when I was a kid: Alex Haller, a surgeon at Johns Hopkins.
Considering the stakes of the occasion when we met, I thought a brief look back would be appropriate.
When I was 4, I started getting terrible stomach aches. Every day, they hurt worse.
Then my stomach started ballooning, until I was like a male pre-schooler who was 9 months pregnant. Continue reading “The man who sliced me open and made me smile”
In town to cover a conference on rheumatology, I ended up in the most appropriate of Amsterdam’s museums a few hours after my plane landed: the Van Gogh museum.
With the suicides of Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade still haunting our consciousness, there I was at ground zero of one of the most famous suicidal artists in history. Continue reading “Van Gogh, Bourdain and unknowable urges”
There is hardly a place more depressing than a dying mall. The vastness of the decay. The long-ago cheer. A space requiring fullness, vacuumed out.
Only in an emergency would I end up in one. But when I landed in Atlanta earlier today, I found that a packing error had rendered me sports jacket-less. Continue reading “The unmatched gloom of the dying mall”
If my wife had been as discriminating picking husbands as she is picking Christmas trees, I can only assume we wouldn’t be married. Continue reading “My wife knows how to pick a fine specimen (a Christmas tree, of course).”
Love, of course, is tumultuous — ‘throes’ of passion, ‘stormy’ romance — but is it too much to ask to be in love and be at peace?
The tragedy of Anna Karenina, one of the books on my Mid-Life Reading Crisis list, is that she has to choose. Continue reading “‘Make it so that I am at peace’: Thoughts on Anna Karenina”
I first read ‘Your Blinded Hand’ by Tennessee Williams in The New Yorker six years ago. It’s proven to be unforgettable. It was published 18 days after the arrival of my first-born son, and I read it while still floating, amazed by my joy, which is partly why it has left such an impression, I guess. But regardless, it’s a powerful depiction of our desperate belief that, in the face of disaster and despair, we will not be alone. It both warms and haunts. I thought it should have a place on this blog. Continue reading “A good way to spend a minute”