Posts Tagged: New York Times Magazine

How Lives Begin

It's 1976.

I grew up in the East Village, in New York City, surrounded by art. I was young, maybe 4, when I learned where babies came from. Upon leaving the Finnish fundamentalist faith of my youth, I made my parents a promise that I would still attend church on Christmas and Easter.

Previously: How Lives End

One of my earliest memories that doesn't have to do with my tonsillectomy or the arrival of my baby brother—and I am not equating the two—is of seeing President Kennedy ride along East 161st Street in the Bronx in the back of an open [...]


Entitlement Reform: Christopher Buckley

The rules of adulthood for those inhabiting the upper echelons of Connecticut nepotism are a strange puzzle. Required to mature ahead of their age for parental dinner parties and parlor tricks, it seems that a reversion to adolescence is only inevitable at some point. Case in point: the temper tantrum that Christopher Buckley ("Christo" to his dad) has woven into a tale of grieving his beloved "mum and pup," which appeared on the cover of the New York Times magazine and which will be available in extended memoir book form soon.


Ten Questions Parents Should Frantically Ask About Schooling

This coming weekend, the New York Times magazine looks at our children and what private and charter schools are doing for/to them! It raises so many questions for those of us who are concerned about our babies and if they will go to top-tier colleges after top-tier primary and secondary education, which is something you really do worry about especially if you're dropping half a million on K-12 and then having to make a sizable donation to an Ivy League to make sure that little Crayson, Effexor and Randomly get to go to the right college! Here's the top ten questions that a parent may form whilst reading [...]


How Lives End

If you’re reading this, Mom — and I’m sure that you are — I hope that you’re proud of your boy. I could have been a Middle Eastern extra on “24.” And way ahead. But when the I.T. guy came and wiped me out — everything: me, just gone — I remember trying not to think about how easily you can be erased. “Exactly what you need,” he said. Then we strapped the kayaks to the roof of the car, got in and sat for a long time, heater blasting, weighing our options. As I watched the improvised refugee camp shrink in the [...]