Oh yeah, a fresh sweet shot of Pfizer — straight up, no chaser. Sure, I had to take a 90-minute train ride to find an appointment; I was never happier to commute. And sure, my shoulder was sore the next day — but what a pleasant pain. I thank all the scientists and researchers who worked double time (triple time?) to so rapidly develop this pharmaceutical fix. Turns out the human race can be awful darn resourceful when it puts its mind to it. What other exceptionally challenging problem could we solve if we all decided to focus on it?… Read the rest

I feel something so positive in America. The protests are sparking us back to health. All those voices rising up for justice. The crime was against a black person – as it has been, again and again. But the people gathering are white and black and all races.

There’s never been protests like this in my lifetime. A protest is a limited-time event – there’s redress or not, and life moves on. Today’s gatherings feel like something entirely new is dawning. Like people have stood up and realized, Hey we’re all here together – this is *our* country – let’s change things!… Read the rest

I love it that the apple tart sold in the Barnes and Noble cafes is called the Rustic Apple Tart.

I also love (unfortunately) the tart itself, in a love-hate kind of way. It’s a soulless glop of industrial sugar-goo that delivers a Mike Tyson body blow of 390 calories. Deciding to ingest the thing requires an odd mix of indulgence and self-loathing.

Once consumed, it delivers the eater into a dull, narcotic fullness. Your feeling of disappointment (I just ate that?) is steamrolled by the gelatinous volume resting in your gut.

And again, the name: Rustic Apple Tart.… Read the rest