Death of Brilliance
I’m profoundly sad that David Foster Wallace commited suicide. In this article, I reflect on my experience reading his work and ponder the unanswerable “whys.”
I’m profoundly sad that David Foster Wallace commited suicide. In this article, I reflect on my experience reading his work and ponder the unanswerable “whys.”
Dale’s friend had painted him a paint-by-numbers eagle and was mad when he didn’t collect it. What ultimately happened was surprising, to say the least.
After my first week as a blogaziner (there’s a mouthful), I reflect on the lessons learned and the successes. Overall, it was a pretty good week. I also write about my feelings about how we will recognize my aunt’s passing and the strange Jewish urges that are taking hold of me.

BetsyG likes to write even more than she likes to talk. Her essays have been published in the Boston Globe Magazine. She has children who would be horrified to be associated with her and her blogazine. BetsyG is a happy divorcée and, suffering from a bad case of arrested development, has no idea how old she really is; her deluded belief is that she's your age, whatever it may be.