There’s an old saying: Children are like farts—you only enjoy your own. I happen to disagree, partly because I don’t have any children of my own, but mostly because it’s great fun being a guncle (gay uncle). … read more
I’ve always thought LAX was the most glamorous airport in the U.S., not because you stand a better than average chance of spotting a celebrity at the next urinal, but because of the Theme Building, which is as close as it gets to visiting The Jetson’s in their intergalactic bubble house. (OK, there’s always psilocybin mushrooms and a Hannah-Barberra marathon on TV, but you get the drift.)
I’ve had over 48 hours to digest what happened on Monday, and here’s the deal: It’s indigestible. To any civilized human being, the bombings at the Boston Marathon were incomprehensible.
My experience was terrifying, although nowhere near as horrific as others’. Three days later, I’m still shaken, weepy and finding it difficult to concentrate. And this is all that happened to me: … read more