Exactly one year ago, my dad died. He lived a very long life (he would have turned ninety this April) and a very rich one, too, and was loved by pretty much everyone who ever met him, none the least of which were his three sons (the middle one of which—the baloney in...
This week I had to have new photos taken for the back cover flap for The Go-Giver, which is coming out in hardcover right after Christmas. So: two day ago, Ana calls a local photographer (whom neither of us has ever met before) and makes a date for the next day. The...
I recently received this e-mail from amy good friend Scott Ohlgren. First few paragraphs in, I had to go back and re-read carefully to make sure it was a joke. By the time I reached the end I was LOL, as they say. ROTF, in fact. LMAO. I hope you enjoy it as much as I...
Last night I took a quiet Sunday night off to watch the film Bobby, Emilo Estevez’s lovingly crafted homage to Bobby Kennedy. The entire film takes place on June 4, 1968, tracing the lives of various “ordinary” people in the Ambassador Hotel, spinning a dozen or so of...
So it goes. That’s the three-word refrain that peppers Kurt Vonnegut’s most famous novel, Slaughterhouse-Five (1969), a mantra he drops with laconic grace every time a death occurs in the course of his narrative. Though he famously pledged never to write another novel...
