The definitive guide to things I think about

My parents are visiting us this summer and we decided to take them on a trip to New York City. By many accounts, this is the most iconic city in the US, and if you are a first time visitor to the east coast, as my father is, it is a common ritual to include NYC in your itinerary. I had taken a Thursday and Friday off, and almost on a whim, we chose to use that time to do a whirlwind tour, to take the teeniest bite of the Big Apple.  There was much hemming and hawing on the best way to get there. We had three options: 1) Drive to Fort Lee, New Jersey, and take a cab across the George Washington bridge into NYC 2) Take an Amtrak from Boston to Penn Station 3) Drive to Stamford, Connecticut, check into a hotel, and take a train to NYC. We settled on #3, having done that in the past. #2 would have been our preferred choice but the Amtrak train tickets were going to cost us around $1200,  round-trip for five people. So on Thursday morning, we set off on our big adventure. Per famil...

Women’s Day on March 8 is a special day in our home. I, the man of the house, wearer of the pants, the seat of masculine power, have a day off from work to celebrate the day. My wife does not. There is some friction as a consequence. This year, 2026, the year which future historians will refer to as the year when it became unmistakably clear that it was too late for humanity, March 8 fell on a Sunday. So I am up early on Monday, on my compensatory day off to celebrate Women’s Day, time stretching before me like an open road through farm fields under a blue sky. I want to do justice to the occasion, and what better homage in my view, then to let the woman have her complete, unfettered freedom. Do whatever you like, I tell her when she wakes up. Let’s order out for dinner, I say. In fact, let’s not cook or clean, or perform any of those mindless chores whose only reward is their inevitable repetition. I have a presentation at 9, she says. Well, okay, let’s play it by ear, I tell her. Loo...