One of the worst things about aging was that no one looks at you anymore. You spend half a lifetime taking in the gaze, building part of your identity around it, and then the gaze, tenuous to begin with, disappears and you're removed from the larger network of physical desire.

His job has ruined moviegoing for him, as he frequently gives the industry twelve- or fourteen hour days and is loath to give it an extra ninety minutes during his off time. Sloppy decision making at the top means the bottom works weekends. Often it's someone in an office in L.A. deciding whether or not my husband makes it home for dinner.

A hangover is the visceral reality of a price being extracted.

December is the holdout month, all the others torn away.

All individuals are responsible for all human carnage... in other words, anyone can stand in the footprints of the assassin.

She makes me feel like an amateur human.

I grew up associating dads with suits, the uniform of men with offices.

Most narrative is part purpose, parr accident, and the messiness of life always pulses against the myth.

Searching is a natural state for us animals.

She's an enthusiastic recorder of life - writes in her journal every prodigiously, loads her camera's SD cards with thousands of pictures. Her swooping, idiosyncratic half-print, half-cursive style scrawls on month after month, skipping lines between the scraps of the discussion that seem important enough to snatch and capture.