I am a fan of Wodehouse, and there’s a lightness of touch and delight in service in his work that has informed much of the way I’ve dealt with the popularly disliked chores of day-to-day existence. The inevitability of sinks full of dishes and our ultimate and possibly final death are on a similar par, and there’s something in accepting this as part of the fabric of the world and developing a comfort with all that I’ve since found incorporated in many of the best works of eastern philosophy. We all serve something, whether it is our worst instincts or the missions of our clumsily attempted states of transcendence. Continue reading
It’s true. I used to call kids of a certain age, even the ones I loved best, “little disease vectors.”Continue reading
It’s a funny thing. You hit 48, well into that territory at which you can be definitively described as “pushing” fifty, and you’re gay, you’re content with an ordered, adventurous, artistic life of one new challenge after another, and suddenly—everything’s new, and different.
It was a rough start.Continue reading