Columns

When I heard my brother Jonathan had taken his own life, my first thought, unfiltered through the sieve of reason, was: “Why the hell did he do this to me, to my mother, to us?”
When I learned that Kate Spade had taken her own life, my first thought was: “Why did she do that to them?” referring to her husband and 13-year-old daughter.
And when, almost unbelievably, I learned that Anthony Bourdain had committed suicide in his hotel room in France, I thought “My God, he had everything to live for! Why?”

When I was a 19-year-old college sophomore in 1982, my father gave me advice that makes even more sense for 19-year-olds today.
Despite his protestations, you see, I chose English as my major at Penn State. Worried about my ability to land a job, he begged me to at least minor in something practical.
I’m still the only person ever to graduate from Penn State with a major in English and a minor in air conditioning/heating.
I joke, of course, but if I were 19 now, I don’t think I’d go thousands upon thousands into debt to fund a liberal arts degree.

Quick, grab the smelling salts and clear the fainting couches.
President Trump’s pardon of conservative author Dinesh D’Souza last week violently triggered Beltway media elites. It’s peanut butter, weed pollen, gluten, manspreading, Chick-fil-A, the national anthem, and Kryptonite all rolled into one giant political allergen. Allow me to administer the rhetorical, metaphorical antihistamine.