The Year Of Paying Attention I confuse statistics with real life. I figure it’s a safe bet I’ll die in my mid-eighties, around the same age as my parents did. I imagine I’m all set for the rest of this trip. This is purely wishful thinking. And I’m pondering marriage…

The Year Of Paying Attention A pretty woman was flirting with me after a 12-step meeting. This rarely happens, so it distracted me. Of course I liked it — I felt attractive. Then I regained my bearings. The woman might be off her rocker. We’ll never know, will we? I…

The Year Of Paying Attention “I was wondering when they were going to sue,” my sister Marianne said on the phone. My went-missing/found-dead cousin is back in the local news. Marianne sent me a link to the newspaper story, about how his nieces are suing the businesses and agencies they…

The Year Of Paying Attention Ah, the futility of trying to make sense of one’s life, of chasing happiness, and of attempting to give up eating pork. I had bacon at breakfast yesterday, discussing with two married pals the ease with which any of us might walk away from our…

The Year Of Paying Attention Sarah and I continued squabbling last night, during dinner, debating whether I’d wrecked Max and Trish’s visit with my bad mood. I’m not sure if it was the mid-kerfuffle arrival of the BBQ shrimp, but we were arguing, then arguing and eating, then not arguing…

The Year Of Paying Attention We’re heading into Thanksgiving, and the last wave of guests has begun, old friends Max & Trish from the Jersey Shore. Max was my boss nearly forty years ago at a radio station. He and his wife Trish have always had their priorities straight (music…

The Year Of Paying Attention “You have a lot of nice friends in New Orleans,” my daughter Ellen said, before she boarded her flight back to New York. We’d had a quick visit with Emily, her baby and her dog, after shamelessly stuffing ourselves at the Oak Street Po-Boy Festival. …

The Year Of Paying Attention NOLA Guest Number One has arrived from New York. Peter (the artists’ book publisher) is sitting on the couch. We’re both pooped. Before I’d collected him from Louis Armstrong International to go to lunch, I’d already pedaled to hell and gone this morning. After scarfing…

The Year Of Paying Attention My day began in Queens, where an unsmiling employee of the Transportation Security Administration confiscated my moisturizer, and ended in the West Riverside neighborhood of New Orleans where my short-term landlord Jeff promised he’d find me a colander. …