Day 17: Happy Birthday, Anton Chekhov! “…and then go on to tell the story of how this young man drop by drop wrings the slave out of himself until, one fine morning, he awakes to feel that flowing in his veins is no longer the blood of a slave, but that of a complete human…
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“I always have had the illusion it was more important, or as important, to be a good man as to be a great writer. May turn out to be neither. But would like to be both.” -Ernest Hemingway I just finished Paul Hendrickson’s masterful, and sympathetic new study of Papa entitled, Hemingway’s Boat: Everything He…
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I am a complicated girl, (whatever that means), and my thing for complicated boys is well known, but on today’s date in 1860, a man was born with whom I’ve always had the most straightforward relationship of adoration: happy birthday, Anton Chekhov! I don’t want this post to descend to the level of second grade…
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Here, in Queens, I’m hoping I can get through the day without the cats bursting into flames–especially since, god bless them, they’re not the brightest felines in their own seats, and despite the apartment being air-conditioned, they’re sleeping…under the sink, in the closets…yes, in all the hottest places, bless their furry faces.–and I’m also trying…
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