Art and the Absinthe Drinker
There is something about the supposedly mystical qualities of the mind-altering substances of yore, particularly absinthe, that’s intriguing. Intriguing, that is, in the slightly forbidden way that allows you to imagine it, wonder about it, romanticize it, observe it from afar—and then slam a book closed with a shudder, just as you sense that if you turn one more page you’ll have gone too far.

A Painting That Says It All
This is how I feel today. Thank you, Edvard Munch, for portraying so vividly and accurately what no words could every convey:

Bad Parenting 101: The "Balloon Boy" Hoax
I’m lucky. Despite a youth fraught with loss and emotional upheaval, brought about by forces and situations beyond my control, I was blessed with parents who lived for their children. Who loved their children unconditionally and whose personal wants and needs took a backseat to the welfare of their kids. Whose mission in life was to ensure that they raised children who would be strong, honest, moral, safe, and secure. Who’d never ask their kids to do something they knew was wrong. My family was the quintessential “we didn’t have money, but we had love” family. Our love for each other was—and is—passionate and boundless. My parents punished us when we misbehaved and

Julius and Ethel
I’ve recently become fascinated with—and riveted by—the case of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg. And this fascination came about in the most serendipitous (actually, quite ludicrous) way.Normally, fascination with such a topic would be out of character for me, since, among other things, I’ve never had any real interest in American post-WWII politics/government issues—and what little interest I may have had at one time was squelched by a quick overview (via a PBS special on Nixon) of McCarthyism. And spies? Espionage? My knowledge of espionage begins with Get Smart and ends with James Bond.So how did I come to the Rosenbergs? Well, it’s kind of embarrassing, bu

Looking for Light in All the Wrong Places
I'm looking for a light read. You know, chick-lit. Something along the lines of The Nanny Diaries perhaps, or maybe even a Bridget Jones or an In Her Shoes--something I can put down without a bookmark, pick up whereever, and not miss anything important. Something that won't stay with me for days or weeks, something that won't haunt me, something that won't change my life or challenge my way of thinking. Something that won't break my heart.Yes, I've been rethinking my reading list. It's getting me down. It's much too heavy. I need to lighten up, I know, at least when it comes to books. That's what I tell myself, but I've been through this before--it'll