I miss John Boehner. I miss Harry Reid, “Plan B” and Eric Cantor. I even miss Donald Trump and Mitt. I miss the terrible anxiety of the fiscal cliff, and the push and shove of the hordes rushing through the mall. This week I pulled back the sheets to reveal that I am not only a political junkie, but an unabashed stress junkie.
J.P. Devine
ON THE EDGE: Lemme tell ya about cliffs
With the horrible specter of the fiscal cliff approaching, the “shudder” has become the national gesture. It’s almost Christmas, and people are looking scared. I’ve seen that look before. As most of you know, I’m a lot older than I seem. I may appear to be 38, but it’s an illusion.
ON THE EDGE: Oh, for a silent night
Is there any truth to the rumor that the CIA used “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” as a torture device when interrogating prisoners? An apocryphal tale perhaps, but I can see its value.
ON THE EDGE: The Santa at the end of the bar
There are pictures around somewhere, ancient snapshots taken with even more ancient box Kodaks, of me sitting in some Great Depression-era Santa’s lap. I do remember my first visit to Santa. It began in the caged elevator of Famous Barr Co. in St. Louis, somewhere around 1938.
ON THE EDGE: This kind of money changes everything, ‘friends’
As you read this, you probably already know that I’ve won the $550 million Powerball lottery. There is a chance, of course, that I did not. That’s ridiculous, but I have to say it. I’m a very positive person, and have already started a list of things I’m going to do with the money.
ON THE EDGE: Password to the wise
It’s the password thing. My early memories of the password were simple: a game show, or the code spoken in the dark, so you didn’t get shot. But the rules are different now, and at my advanced age I have moved — no, fallen — headlong into the 21st century.
ON THE EDGE: Judy from Jersey
She was tall, Judy was, maybe 5 feet, 11 inches in her bare feet. I confess a life-long passion for tall girls. I called her Judy and she never liked it. Her name was Judith, and she insisted that everyone who knew her call her that, because she wanted to be an opera singer and Judy wouldn’t cut it.
ON THE EDGE: My lesson from Andre: Vote
We were the only two tenants on the fifth floor. I was the struggling actor, with a view of a street bordered with colored, discarded doors where they were tearing down our neighborhood, just down from West 67th and Columbus, a space that would soon become Lincoln Center.
ON THE EDGE: This crop always arrives on time
OMG, they’re back. The gnats are gone, the mosquitos are looking for puddles and black flies are toast. But THEY are back.
J.P. DEVINE: Gordon and the leaves
“The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It’s the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared.” — Lois Lowry