Here is a link to the talk I gave last Wednesday at the Kosciuszko Foundation in New York City:
I got back from New York City at 2:30 am Friday – with a cold. But apart from that, and the midtown gridlock that made I-95 look like a country road in Montana (the UN General Assembly was in session), and the hotel room that reminded me of a Thurber drawing (“A hotel room in Louisville”), it was a pleasant trip. I didn’t do much; I was unusually focused on preparing for my talk, which was attended by people who appear in various chapters of my memoir. Hence my anxiousness; it’s easier to talk to a hundred strangers than to a roomful of friends and acquaintances. But the talk went well, and afterwards I reconnected with old colleagues, some of whom I hadn’t seen since 1978. One of the joys of publishing a memoir.
The woman at the gym I had seen many times, though not recently; the man was new to me. He was a large muscular weightlifter, the sort who likes to convey to everyone around him how hard he’s working by grunting loudly and exhaling with great force. At one point he announced, as if anybody cared, “I forgot to do my biceps!” Walking toward the woman, my back turned to him, I rolled my eyes and gave her a can-you-believe-this-guy smile.
She smiled back and said: “’That’s my son.”
(I’m off to New York for a few days – back here Friday.)
CBS’s announcement a few months back that it was going to terminate The Late Show was seen by many commentators as the beginning of the end for late night talk shows. They had lost their relevance, it was argued, and they were losing money for their networks.
Now Jimmy Kimmel, the host of ABC’s late night talk show, has been suspended for comments he made after the assassination of Charlie Kirk, and it has ignited debates about free speech and a meddling, autocratic government. Much of the media – social and legacy – has been focused on the remarks of a late night talk show host, his being cancelled because of them, and the ramifications of his dismissal. Which would seem to argue against the idea of the institution’s irrelevance.
Speaking of celiacs, we not too long ago had dinner with another couple that is half-and-half. I mentioned to the husband – a fellow imbiber of gluten – that I was thinking of starting a support group for Spouses of Celiacs. We not only sacrifice in support of our spouses – steering clear of doughnut shops, for instance – but we suffer the indignities of the perennially overlooked. In restaurants, Hania and the server will enter into a long and detailed conversation – often interrupted by a trip to the kitchen and a consultation with the chef – while I sit quietly looking at my phone. Sometimes the server, having spent so much time at our table, assumes his work is done there and blithely heads off without taking my order. This is extremely frustrating; I get enough inattention from editors; I don’t need waiters adding to my feeling of invisibility.
The husband liked my idea. “And,” he said, “we’ll have our meetings in a Chinese restaurant.”
(Celiacs tend to avoid Chinese food because of soy sauce, which contains wheat. I thought it was a brilliant suggestion.)
Yesterday evening I was reading a review of a new book, A Short History of Stupidity (“Why is it short?” Hania asked) in which the reviewer questioned the wisdom of Einstein. Einstein defined insanity as doing the same thing again and again and expecting different results. The reviewer, Tibor Fischer, wrote: “As someone who asked beautiful girls to dance in my youth, I did get different results.”