Pain is there, or it’s not. Physical pain; where in the brain is that memory stored? Show pictures of emotions: sadness, joy, anger, despair, fear, surprise.Then pain. And it is all of these, the most recognizable expression that is not a feeling.
We baby boomers have two topics: pain and medicine. Bill Clinton: “I share your pain.” And to look at him, to hear him perform, you could almost believe it, but no more: fool us once, shame on you; fool us twice, shame on us. A politician couldn’t run on that promise; she would be run out of town. Our pain is our own, not even the closest among us can share it. To talk of it, eyes glaze over. Ask Nielsen, what’s beyond the 18- to 49-year-old group? Losers lane, narrowing toward the void. And on the way, pain and medicine. Yawn. Do you feel sleepy?
Running for Your Life: Resolutions
J, a friend of M’s came to the door the other night. With M in India last month, J hadn’t had the opportunity to say Happy New Year, so she did, almost two months and an untold number of snowstorms since Jan. 1, 2011. Or 1-1-11.
It strikes me that in these weeks I haven’t made any new year’s resolutions. That days go by and although I like to think of myself as thoughtful and prone to self-evaluation, but often as not I’m feeling pulled along by routine, three hundred days a year I leave home about the same time, stand on a spot on the subway platform
It strikes me that in these weeks I haven’t made any new year’s resolutions. That days go by and although I like to think of myself as thoughtful and prone to self-evaluation, but often as not I’m feeling pulled along by routine, three hundred days a year I leave home about the same time, stand on a spot on the subway platform
Running for Your Life: More on '18.3'
A fictive character of mine, newspaperman Ben Starwick, weighs in on some human costs of “18.3,” (http://www.economist.com/node/17957107). Overheard in conversation with a pal, our narrator Luke DeSoto:
“You don’t know the half of it, pal.” His dark brown eyes locked on to me.
“You don’t know the half of it, pal.” His dark brown eyes locked on to me.
Running for Your Life: Week One
Suddenly, Dr. Playground makes an appearance. The “y” in the shape of a stethoscope. Another freezing day, but that doesn’t stop Dr. Playground, the mobile fix-it truck that, presumably, keeps Prospect Parks’ many playgrounds in working order. But what to do since Dec. 26, when the snows came? No matter, Dr. Playground is spiffy as ever, sparkling clean forest green, no strained sewage for it, the color of the mini-growlers I had to hack out and around Vanya, twisting to get them out from under the car and I feel a twinge – uh, oh – but it’s a only temporary, put it down to my Jack LaLanne calisthenics, can’t afford an injury now.
Running for Your Life: Doppelgangers
“Swan Lake” meets “The Shining,” M tells the miraculously kind woman in the heart-shaped glasses who agrees to move two minutes before the !Coming Attractions! at the Regal Cinema, Union Square, Daniel Aronofsky’s “Black Swan,” the feature presentation, in order to make it possible for M and I to have front row center stadium seats in the balcony for the Friday night show that I’ve modest expectations for and that exceeds those and beyond so much so that I find it even more remarkable than “The King’s Speech,” because like “The Shining,” “Black Swan” is a Henry James “madness of art” movie. (James: “We work in the dark — we do what we can — we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art.”) M offers her assessment in the ladies room after thanking the woman again for moving so that all three of us could enjoy the show, M’s critique of which sparks the response, “Yes! That’s exactly right. Do you have a blog? You should definitely share that. ”
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