My best friend from high school is dying of cancer. I’m not sure exactly what kind. On a recent visit I overheard the words “prostate,” “metastatic,” and “palliative care.” You know the kind of cancer you get better from? Tom’s cancer is the other kind. Tom and I became friends
My wife is my frontal lobe. On a recent trip to Miami, I made arrangements to meet my running buddies on Monday morning for our traditional plod down to Matheson Hammock to watch the sunrise. Patti gently pointed out that while she was in favor of Matheson Hammock specifically and
That my children are my greatest joy will come as no surprise to long-time readers. (Sorry, Patti. Passion and joy are different.) Indeed it has often been said that you think you know what love is when you meet your partner, but that you only truly come to understand the
It’s hard to watch Bewitched, a situation comedy from 1964. Bewitched is to women’s rights as thalidomide is to medications. For those of you who had the good sense to be born more recently, a brief recap will suffice: Samantha, a recently married person of the female persuasion, has magical
“How dare you accuse my Percy of cheating!” bellows the outraged parent. “He would never do such a thing!” The teacher presents Percy’s answer sheet from the Biology 101 mid-term. Percy’s wrong answers match identically with Susie’s, an honors student who sits one row in front and to the side
Here’s a terrifying scenario. Worse than the scariest of Rod Sterling’s Twilight Zone episodes. Network television may show helicopters exploding and Bay Watch reruns but no programming would include something as horrific as the following: Imagine living in a home without a front door. Cycles of frigid temperatures, dust, and
Those who are triggered by references to gun violence may wish to skip the article this week. A 17-year-old eats a hamburger. Her parents – – religious adherents, vehement vegetarians, or perhaps just miserable human beings to begin with – – beat her. Mom and dad take turns hitting their
Why do I love spam, the more feckless the better? The stupider the ask, the more I enjoy it. What is my predilection about? Most (normal) folks are grumpy about the quotidian barrage attacking their inbox, happily ignoring incompetent requests for money and personal information. Why do I look forward
Yesterday morning I ran a mile in eight minutes. Each lap of the quarter mile track required almost exactly two minutes of exertion. At the end of the eight-minute workout, I was pretty much pooped and headed over to the deli with my running buddies for some companionship, conversation, and
Lillian Helman took care of Dorothy Parker until Dorothy Parker died. Lillian did what people do: hired a house cleaner, ran some errands. Lillian thought she would be compensated when Parker and her “cobra wit” ascended to the great typewriter in the sky. She was not. Parker’s will left everything
Copyright © David Altshuler 1980 – 2022 | Miami, FL • Charlotte, NC | (305) 978-8917 | [email protected]
