A New Day

On one morning each year, the arc of the rising sun passes in just the right place through the bare January tress so that its first rays fall upon the chair in which I sit to read. It so happened this year that this morning, a Sunday morning, was that particular morning.

It also so happened that the morning was cloudless.

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Our “18″ Days in Scotland

What follows is a more-or-less realtime journal of this month’s travels to Scotland to celebrate our 18th Anniversary. 18 days abroad!


Right now we’re on layover at Frankfurt before heading to Aberdeen.

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Ode on a Bust of A. O. Scott

A monument to movies’ gilded mage
Stands in a vaunted, vaulted sepulcher.
The sculpture—like the critic, just as sage—
Has chiseled (as Scott’s learnèd pen) assured.
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Dragnet

The story you are about to read is true. The names have not been changed because, well, let’s face it: none of us is exactly what one might call innocent. And why should we need to be?

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The Poets Down Here

I wept yesterday morning through Clarence Clemons’ sax solo in “Jungleland,” Bruce Springsteen’s epic finale of 1975′s Born to Run.

God, what a searing song. And yes, I address the deity in so saying.

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Eulogy

This is the house that Jack built

At the end of a long drive
It stands apart from its neighbors
At home with its solitude
And its singularity
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Crazy Stories

The other day I got an email from my friend Peter.

Reading your blog has rekindled an obsession with a childhood memory, one that I have only told two other people in my life about: my sister and my mother.
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Do I Have Your Attention Yet?

Oh, the contradictions.

I sat on the edge of my twin bed in the basement of my parents’ house, frustrated as hell. I was 31 years old, gainfully employed as a software engineer making something like $65,000 a year. But for the second time in my life, I was saddled with crushing debt.

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Tollers’ Wisdom

Once upon a time
Artur Rubenstein sat before a Steinway
Or a debauched Bechstein
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What Was to Become of Me

I am truly befuddled to discover that, amongst the literally millions of words which I have published in one place or another over the last two decades, I have yet to write anything about Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ–the work of art that has without a doubt been the most influential on my life.

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