On certain Saturdays during the school year, I read to second graders in a school under the Manhattan Bridge. I love to walk down, get the blood pumping, breathe deeply of the cool air. As I get closer, the day is just waking up, huge delivery trucks dropping off boxes of groceries, tiny forklifts carrying …
It's almost football season again and, as a loyal Jets fan, it seems appropriate to write about failing teams. (As an optimist, I feel compelled to root for them, because it's such a delightful surprise when they do something right. As a realist, I don't expect them to do anything right. There's blame enough to …
