On the nightstand, my cellular phone—too unfamiliar, yet, for “cellphone”—begins to vibrate. A colleague; let it go to voicemail. 9 AM—well, 6 AM, far as my body is concerned. Still travel logy.
Two minutes later, buzzing again. Randy this time. He left for EWR before I awoke; a conference in Florida. I’d only seen him for a little bit between arriving and turning in.
I answer. My brother starts talking: he has a view of downtown from the terminal. I’m on my feet, looking for my shoes, my glasses, a goddamned shirt; phone, inhaler, wallet. Quick stop to pee—good move, it’ll turn out.
Through the door, into the elevator, through the lobby, past the doorman, onto the street (it’ll be months before I return), into the park, and turn.
I look up. I look up. I look up.
I am still looking up.
August 20, 2017
In Charlottesville, Virginia,* this week, a brazen female jaywalker was challenged by a courageous young man armed only with his wits and two tons of rapidly accelerating steel. …
Tomorrow, 28 Av, is the yahrzeit for my brother Randall. There’s not a day that goes by that I’m not thinking of him — sometimes I cry, but more often I laugh. You simply cannot talk to anybody (including yourself) about Randy without laughter.
Which is exactly how…
July 23, 2017
Orenthal James Simpson, who definitely did not murder two people in cold blood in 1994 — and definitely is legally responsible for their deaths — jumped a final legal hurdle on Friday, crossing the plane back into society after serving nine years for a separate, non-fatality-producing felony…
July 9, 2017
The American was brash but insecure, much older yet oddly inexperienced. The Russian was brazen, even ruthless; yet he was also surprisingly sensitive, finding deep spiritual satisfaction in everyday activites like spying, genocide, and horseback riding while topless (er, the Russian, not the horse, although technically I…