White Wolfe

Author Tom Wolfe. His books stand the test of time. No one ever coined cultures better. Social x-rays. Limousine liberals. Radical chic. The ME generation. University athletics as centers of corruption. Astronauts as heroes of a generation. Wolfe’s white suits and literary legacy live on.

I Am Charlotte Simmons. Bonfire of the Vanities. The Right Stuff. Back to Blood. All-time favorites on the Book-Treks shelf.

It seems that Tom’s first job in journalism was as a reporter at The Springfield Union, in Springfield, Massachusetts.

Gone to the Dogs

BROKEN RECORD ALERT!

Okay. I surrender. Dogs win. If you are allergic to them, you are screwed. Now it seems my alma mater Mount Holyoke College and many others are allowing “comfort” pets in dorms to soothe the nerves of snowflakes. Forget that some poor kid is anxious about having an asthma attack or getting mauled. And. Unless human passengers can prove they can fly without having a medical reaction, they are dragged off the plane. The dogs stay.

Allergies to cigarette smoke, peanuts. Totally accommodated. Allergies to pets. Nope. Sorry. Not politically correct.

Sap Flow

DSC_0010-3The sugar maples are running. Dark amber flow. DSC_0002-5

Just as we have a new dynamic duo. Tweedle Don. And. Tweedle Christie. Lots of sappy soundbites. Hillary wants love and kindness. Nice. Bernie’s run was good while it lasted. Lost its glow.

Oscars show. Can Chris Rock the house? Brooklyn syrupy. Bridge of Spies. Stellar. Rylance and Hanks. Gorgeous attention to detail. Marmalade moment. What The Big Short was not. Still fave Spotlight. Ruffalo.

Bats in the Belfry

On this most horrible of all holidays. If you care. Try these costume party stand-outs on for size. If like me you hate All Hallow’s Eve. Put cheap candy in a bowl on the porch and re-watch the Republican debate. Or Hillary’s 11-hour Benghazi hearing. Or Boehner’s tearful farewell. Redundant.

Or. Spend Halloween night chugging shots in between handing out Kit Kats to trick-or-treaters at the door. Apologize for your plaid pajamas. For your Vampira meets Bride of Frankenstein updo this year. Sorry about no pumpkins on the porch. Nor scary lights. They’ll get over it.

Can we get through one more?