(Feet Don’t Fail Me Now…)
The most powerful people in the world are nothing more than spoiled, rotten, and little bratty children. So Sad.
Ice cream, eaten late at night, without anyone knowing, tastes the best. It’s a scientific fact. Look it up.
Today is the 81st Anniversary of D-Day.
(I can’t believe my way-back-when…)
Well… after getting just routed by Liverpool on Sunday, (and it was awful especially being that the win gave Liverpool the Premier League Title) stupid Tottenham went on to beat Bodo/Glimt 3-1 in the fist leg of the Europa League Simi-final. That gave Spurs a pretty nice cushion going into the second match, as it will be played in Bodo/Glimt. This means there is a pretty good chance that Tottenham Hotspur will play for a title after having one of their worst home league seasons in years. I’m torn here. One one side, I do like the idea of them winning a trophy, while on the other hand, I feel like I was chewed up and spit out by this team. I am very much aware that I am only a fan and this club owes me nothing, but man… this just has been the roughest season. Just waiting to be put out of my misery.
We bought an air conditioner about a month ago. It was on sale, and also we wanted to beat the tariffs. It has been sitting in it’s box, in my living room. Every weekend we have planned on putting it in the widow but something keeps coming up. And today, it’s going to be 82 degrees in the City, which is like 92 degrees in the rest of the country. (I can’t explain it, its just how it works.) This new air conditioner will not go into the window today, as the wife is working, and it is a two person job. I will look at my expensive foot rest for another day… wondering how refreshing it’s cool air could be.
Still not 100% recovered from my stomach bug. Right now, my stomach turns sour whenever I eat anything. I am very tired of toast, and eggs, as that’s the only thing that isn’t causing me a issue. I can drink about half a cup of coffee, and then it just starts burning. I was really hoping to be back to normal by today, but it looks like I have a bland Friday coming my way. If I could have anything, it would be a chicken torta, with extra avocados and jalapenos. Oh… I can taste it right now, and also the pain and discomfort that will come with it. But, isn’t that just how life works sometimes.
(But I can’t go for that…)
I don’t have as many bad habits as I used to. I am a reformed smoker, which was the worst bad habit I ever had, and I know that I am better off. But man… Some nights, a whiff of smoke will catch me in just the right mood, and I get that craving ll over again. I won’t act on it, but it sure is tempting. To be outside of a bar, slightly tippsy, and smoking a cigarette as the rest of the world is asleep. That feeling of being on the edge of the world, almost outside the boarder of normal and decent life. Not a bad person, just not one that fits in. Maybe that’s a tad romantic when it comes to an addiction, and I don’t want to return to it, but like thinking of a long lost ex, it wasn’t all bad.
I don’t want to get too deep into it, because if you know you know, but stupid old Tottenham refuses to give up one winning at least one trophy this year. I had written them off, and I felt better for it, but that damn team went and gave me hope. Just a small drop, a taste of things to come, and now I have started caring again, and that annoys me. I would rather be thinking about next season, rather than what might be.
So, if David Brooks says we need an uprising, then we might need an uprising.
(The short story “Five Bridges” by Colm Tóibín appeared in the March 10th, 2025 issue of The New Yorker.)
Photograph by Todd Hido for The New Yorker
Sometimes when I start reading a short story, in the back of my mind, I start rooting for it. You know, cheering it on, hoping that the story succeeds. Like wishing that your favorite ballplayer hits a homerun when they’re at the plate. So you see, I found myself really pulling for Colm Tóibín’s “Five Bridges” to do well, and accomplish its goals.
Here’s an overly simplified synopsis: Paul, an Irish guy who has been living in the United States illegally for over thirty years, has decided to move back to Ireland, but in so doing, that will mean he will have to leave his daughter, whom he fathered with woman he never married. But before he leaves, his daughter wants Paul, the mother and the mother’s husband, to all hike Mount Tam which is outside of San Francisco.
It all starts well. The first section is about Paul hiking with his daughter, Geraldine, and then she tells him her idea about everyone hiking together to Mount Tam. Then at a very leisurely pace, we learn about the strained relationship Paul has with Geraldine’s mother, Sandra. We learn about Paul’s profession as an unlicensed plumber, his socks filled with cash, and his recovery over his alcoholism. Then the story takes a rather hard right turn with the introduction of Paul’s friend Kirwan, another Irishman, and the semi support group Kirwan creates for other single Irishmen living in the Bay Area. Then the story shifts back to Paul, Geraldine, Sandra and her husband, Stan, as the hike up the mount. I’ll leave it there as to not ruin the ending.
As you can see, Tóibín layers his story, and generally it all works together smoothly, with the exception of that hard-right turn with Kirwan. Also, several themes play under the surface here; fathers and daughters, blended families, immigration, culture clashes, redemption, penance… And as the story went on, and I got closer and closer to the final page, that’s when I started hoping and rooting for this story to all pull together.
I was enjoying what I was reading, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing was getting it’s full due time to resolve itself. When I encounter stories that feel like this, it’s hard for me to shake the feeling that the piece needs a larger format (a novel) to explore the characters, motivations and themes. I wouldn’t go as far to say I was disappointed with the story; more like I was pulling for it, and wanted to it work.
