There is something about human beings compacted in a cylindrical tube, hurtling between cities at a high speed, unable to maneuver in any other manner than to, say, grab a beer from the cafe car or visit the rest room. It is lost time. And when you’ve made all your cell calls, and answered the last of your email, and you are still only in Wilmington and another forty minutes from home, the last distractions are the people sitting around you. This fellow was at the four-top table immediately behind me. I clocked him as we left New York, but as he is a busy man, and as most of our previous encounters have been a little edgy, I told myself to let well enough alone. I answered a few more emails, looked at some casting tapes on the laptop, checked the headlines. And still, with all of that done, we were only just south of Philadelphia. I texted my son: “On the southbound Acela. Marty O’Malley sitting just behind me,” then joking, “Do I set it off?” A...
Libel per se – UPDATED TWICE
UPDATE: 12 p.m., July 4 I am informed that the Huff Post piece has now removed the reference to my having been fired. Instead, apparently, my revenge was had upon editors who spiked one of my articles because my writing wasn’t “Dickensian” enough. They never said anything of the sort to me or anyone else, and that is not actually the reason that particular article was spiked. I carefully related the actual sequence of events to Dr. Williams in my April memo as a discussion of that particular article and its fate features throughout her manuscript, but no matter. With regard to the Huff Post essay at least, I am libeled no more and I thank the author for her apology at the bottom of the essay. A brief word on the non-performance of the Huffington Post in this matter, on their publishing ethic, and on the manner in which this institution conducts its business: The abdication of editorial responsibility in the case of aggregated sites such as Wikipedia or barely...
It’s carnival time
A carnival season memory from the other night: I am walking with my daughter, just shy of four years, from what we know as the Sugar Store toward the Krewe D’Etat parade. She has mango sorbet on the tip of her nose as she negotiates a fat cone of the stuff. Three blocks away, the drum tattoo of a high school band gives way to a passing float and the throw-me-something cheers of a crowd. She squints down the block, sees the lighted float cruise through. “We missed that one.” “There’ll be another. It’s a long parade.” “Okay.” Long pause. “Can everything stay just like it is now?” “What do you mean?” She examines her sorbet cone, then looks directly at me. “Everybody dies. You’re going to die. One day I’m going to die.” My breath leaves me. Try explaining the ultimate tragedy of life to a four year old. Try doing it without falling back on the tropes and cliches of theology. Try...