The woman at the 72nd Street pay phone had strands of dirty tinfoil in her matted hair and an enormous collection of broken pieces of plastic in her rusty shopping cart. She turned to show me the enormous ring of keys in her hand, insisting that one of them would
To promote my new book, Love the Kid You Get. Get the Kid You Love, I was pleased to be interviewed by Roxy Vargas of “Six in the Mix.” I was not nervous about being on television having participated in this medium once before–with Chuck Zinc or, “Skipper Chuck” as
I am doing my part to support our on-going work to help one another be the best people that we can by offering the following helpful guide to allow you to determine whether or not someone is angry with you. With these basic Anger Assessment tools at your disposal, it
As long suffering readers will doubtless acknowledge, I am all about making brownies with young children. Making brownies is all about math: if three teaspoons is one table spoon, how many teaspoons is two table spoons? Making brownies is all about chemistry: mixtures, combinations, reactions, and-more rarely-explosions. Making brownies is
Can you imagine? A gentle reader suggested to this author recently that I am harsh and–gasp!–judgmental. My thoughtful critic went on to say that I give advice (if I remember correctly, the word “pontificate” was bandied about like undergarments on a clothesline) but no solutions and that what I recommend
This column will be just as helpful without the joke—equal parts old, offensive, and terrible—in the following paragraph:Having fasted for three days waiting in the snow, the woman is told by the disciples that she may finally speak to the great guru whom she has traveled half a world to
As dedicated readers of these Tuesday newsletters are endlessly aware, I have been running with the same group of balding, paunchy, sweaty, middle-aged folks for a number of decades now. Older, slower, stiffer though we may be, our group has survived the disruption of hurricanes, the ravages of divorce, and
Last night I dreamt I was trapped at a dinner party where a woman whom I didn’t know, a pro po of nothing, addressed me as follows: “It is beyond my understanding why the fascist authorities insist on restricting my civil rights and try to forbid me from driving 70
Surely there are enough intrusions into the privacy of your bedroom without my asking yet another boundary crossing question. No reality TV for me, thank you very much. My own life-with which I can barely keep up-entertains me just nicely; I can’t imagine trying to stay abreast of what somebody
You know the guy I’m talking about. If you have ever driven a car in Miami, you have seen this guy repeatedly. He is swerving in and out of traffic, changing lanes without using his turn signal. On a given day, rather than wait, he will abandon the main arteries,
Copyright © David Altshuler 1980 – 2024 | Miami, FL • Charlotte, NC | (305) 978-8917 | david@davidaltshuler.com
