A lot has happened since last I wrote. (Well, okay, that's not entirely true, although really, I wrote that birthday entry ages ago; it's just that I just now made the time to post it ( Read more... )

It's pretty much the perfect age, I keep telling people. Twenty-three lacks the immaturity inherent in twenty-one without being quite so old as twenty-four -- I have some experience under my belt, but I still have my whole life ahead of me -- and it's miles away from the neither-here-nor-there blandness of twenty-two ( Read more... )

I suppose it's a testament to the transient nature of all things in Time: a man I once hated but now respect, admire and genuinely like leaves my life for the Big City, like so many other friends and acquaintances. Maybe it was just the unseasonably cold wind in my face, but my eyes watered as I walked home after saying "Goodnight, Chef" for the ( Read more... )

It was hotter today, 104 if you believe my Macbook. It was 'round 8:15 p.m., as I was almost finished cooking my triglie alla livornese, that I heard the BANG. The lights went out. My fans stopped. A transformer had blown. A fire truck came, and the small fire was put out. I am assuming, and we all know the danger in doing that, that Southern ( Read more... )

The Huffington Post, I'll admit, is pretty liberal. Liberal as in it bashes Hillary Clinton. But it's also written by smart people, one of which happens to be Howard Rodman the chair of the Writing Division at the USC School of Film and Television1.

His 'How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Bombing Iran' outlines the signs indicating that, as ( Read more... )

It's ungodly hot. 101 degrees outside, over 90 in my apartment. I'm sitting on the couch in front of the fan, careful to spread my limbs so no sweat pools between them, trying to convince myself that after a cold shower I'll have just enough heat-resistance to survive the walk to an air-conditioned cafe. I'd been saying this summer had been mild ( Read more... )

The first and most enduring lesson I learned from my aborted minor in psychology is that it’s not our fault. Whatever it is, there’s someone else to blame. Probably our parents ( Read more... )

Chief among my many defects of character is my thoroughly lackluster hair ( Read more... )

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