Category: Life

  • Short Story Review: “Appeasement, Ohio” by George Saunders

    (The short story “Appeasement, Ohio” by George Saunders appeared in the October 26th, 2026 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Photograph by James L. Amos / Getty

    How hard should a writer make a reader work? That was the question I kept asking myself as I read George Saunders’ “Appeasement, Ohio” which is a quirky little story. I’m not saying that getting though it was like reading Joyce’s Ulysses, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being asked to work at reading this story.

    How to describe the it? Lots of moving parts; family, cousins, kids, falling outs, reconnection, loyalty, obligations, conspiracies, tough love, and history. There is no secret, or big reveal in this story, but getting into the details of how this piece unfolds feels like I would be killing some of the fun of reading it in the first place. I will say this, the story did feel like it was inorganically structured to have three storylines that were supposed to weave together – or possibly not – but either way it stuck out as being manufactured rather than authentically blending into the narrative.

    What I wrestled with in “Appeasement, Ohio” was the style that the story was written in. Ultimately, Saunders’ writing style did complement the narrative. With the characters fragmented lives, a wildly unbelievable conspiracy theory, a surreal riot, and the loss of vision, nothing seemed on solid ground here. So, when the writing is chunky, choppy, even repetitive at times, it creates a feeling of disjointed incongruent tangents not fully lining up. This caused me, more than once, to have to go back and reread a section, to verify that I read what I read. For what this story was trying to express, it all successfully came together.

    But it was a bit of work to get there.

  • Earworm Wednesday: Can’t Go Wrong with Queen

    I have no idea how “Don’t Stop Me Now” got stuck in my head. Somewhere over the weekend, it just popped into my head. Maybe I heard it on a commercial or a tv show, or maybe the wife had it on a playlist as we drove out of the City. I’m not complaining about the song, I think Brian May’s solo is pretty awesome, just don’t know how it got in my head.

    Anyway, it’s Queen, so enjoy!

  • Running with My Kid

    I am not a fan of working out, but I understand the need. As a person with a wife and child, I want to spend as much time with them as possible, hence why I try to work out. Not that I am good at it, or even good with keeping the schedule of working out, which leads me to say that, though I may not be “in” shape, I most certainly am not “out” of shape.

    My daughter used to play soccer, which would practice three days a week, and play one game on the weekend. Sadly, she got burned out on the sport, and has been without a physical activity since June. Not one to sit around and do nothing, the kid asked me if we could take up jogging together.

    I am not one to discourage my child, and feel that one of my primary responsibilities is to support my child on whatever endeavor she wishes to pursue. So, of course, I said yes to her request, and we planned on jogging around our local park, two days a week to start with. You know, see how we feel about it.

    The kid loves it.

    It’s been painful for me.

    My knees have been hurting, along with my left foot, and I have been waking up in the morning with a sore right hip. But the worst part, by far, is how clearly running with my kid has shown that I might, in fact, be closer to “out” of shape, rather than “in.” I can only run so long before my lungs start burning, and my muscles feel weak and rubbery. I even noticed that the kid is slightly annoyed at how slow I run, and has started just running way in front of me, and waiting for me to catch up with her.

    I keep telling her that I will get up to her speed, but it’s just going to take me some time. I gotta practice and get my old body back into the swing of running.

    “Sure, dad.” She says to me. “Sure.”

  • Short Story Review: “Chuck Murphy’s Last Run” by Kevin Barry

    (The short story “Chuck Murphy’s Last Run” by Kevin Barry appeared in the October 19th, 2026 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (Illustration by Thomas Colligan; Source photograph from Getty)

    Just about nobody likes getting older. The exception in my life is my kid, who looks forward to every birthday, with the adding another digit to her age. For the rest of us, at some point a switch is flipped, and getting older is something that is dreaded rather than celebrated. Kevin Barry’s story “Chuck Murphy’s Last Run” takes a stab at this predicament, using a group of aging Irish friends, who all belong in a quasi-biker gang, as they journey to send off their mutual friend who recently died.

    The story begins with a solid first paragraph, establishing that what will follow will be humorous as it tackles a somber situation. This approach worked well for the story, which was a very competent piece of writing. Nothing got too serious, as Barry would slip in a joke or two to break any building tension. Motivations were understood, and the interplay between characters felt honest. In all, the story moved at solid clip.

    Yet, nothing happened in this story that wasn’t predictable. You knew they were going to make it to their destination, you knew they were going to say goodbye to their friend, you knew people in the group were going to have an argument, and you knew the main character was going to learn that life was changing, again. This is the reason why I used the word competent to describe this story, because that’s what it was. I could diagram out this story, it was so well constructed. I wouldn’t call it paint by numbers, but it might be two steps away from that.

    What “Chuck Murphy’s Last Run” felt like was a piece of store-bought cake. Sometimes you just want a spongy, sweet piece of cake that hits the spot. It’s a good piece of cake, but five minutes later, you’ve already forgotten about it.

  • Earworm Wednesday: This is for Ma

    My mother played this album all the time while I was growing up, and it used to drive me up the wall. John Denver wasn’t cool, and he was so cheesy. But my Ma loved him, and had several of his albums – Seasons of the Heart might have been her favorite. At least, that was the one she played the most.

    The memory that is the strongest, most vivid, is of “Shanghai Breezes” playing in our house in Texas. It’s early Spring, the windows are open, the song is playing. I’m pretty little, five or six. My mother is somewhere in the house, the kitchen, or her bedroom, but she’s around. I can’t see her, but I hear her singing along with song. She’s there, and she’s in a good mood, happy. Just me and my Ma. It was sweet and innocent, and one of those moments that at the time felt like it could live on forever.