Tuesday, July 14, 2015

où est la guerre?


We arrived in France for the first time on Bastille Day.

After three weeks in Italy, where I had been in charge of the map and the language, Bob emerged from the overnight train to Nice suddenly totally responsible for our well being.

As he spoke first to the cab driver and then to the hotel clerk, he held is head as if it was painful to produce the sounds he was making. And the locals stared at him as though he were a giant misérable wearing a bloody head bandage.

Sunday, July 5, 2015

time capsule to my teenaged self

Dear Jim, Hello from 2015.


I'll bet that sounds downright Jetsonian to you as a 17-year-old in 1975.

So I'll settle one big question at the outset: we do not have flying cars. 

There is, come to think of it, something called a personal computer that I know you'll appreciate for at least a couple of its features in particular: it will check your spelling for you. Hold your tears. I know you'll love that.

And then there’s the Internet, which is also hard to describe, but it will eliminate the need for the family's old Encyclopedia Britannica. And there's a whole lot of, well, anything you might ever want (publicly or secretly) on the Internet, such as movies and music and travel guides. And, umm, well, let me just say, kids your age today aren't even thinking about agonizing over how to convince the sales clerk at the 7-Eleven to sell them a copy of Playgirl.

Yeah, I know about your secret Playgirl stash.

See, I’m you, grown old. I'm you 40 years from now.