Wednesday, Nov. 22 marks the 60th anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy by Lee Harvey Oswald in Dallas.
Those of a certain vintage can remember where they were and what they were doing when they heard the shocking news. In a sense, we’ve never recovered from it.
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What are we to make of Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis’ bid for the presidency? After he was overwhelmingly reelected governor last November, the New York Post dubbed him “De Future.” But he stumbled early on the campaign trail — bleeding money and staffers, hardly confidence-inspiring in a man looking to become the most powerful executive in the world; sliding in the polls; and turning in a mediocre performance in the Republicans debate, after which everyone was talking about irritating, more-Trump-than-vous Vivek Ramaswamy and, to a lesser extent, disapproving schoolmarm Nikki Haley, Christian milquetoast Mike Pence, blustery Jersey boy Chris Christie and steel magnolia Asa Hutchinson.
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In our endless summer of discontent — the heat, the humidity, the devastating wildfires, the smoke, the wayward storms, the indictments, the losing Yankees, to name but a few — I’d like to take a break and return to a subject that helped inspire my fiction and this blog, tennis and in particular Novak Djokovic, whose career trajectory has a lot to do with two pairs of themes that fascinate me — power and rivalry and context and perception.
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Well, so much for those “You Ain’t Black” T-shirts .
President Donald J. Trump and the Republicans — always ready to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, as their handling of the pandemic demonstrates — were all set to capitalize on former Vice President Joe Biden’s gaffe that presumed to tell black people they couldn’t really be black if they voted for Trump, as if there aren’t black Republicans and conservatives. But Biden’s remark, however maladroit, contained the kernel of a question: Might a black Trump supporter actually be voting against his own interests?
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On Nov. 20 — which, as it turned out, would’ve been the 94th birthday of onetime Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy, who was assassinated by Sirhan Sirhan on June 5, 1968 — PBS’ “Nova” aired a fascinating program, “The Violence Paradox” — one that said a lot about the paradox of empathy in our own time.
Based on the controversial work of psychologist Steven Pinker, the program posited that civilization has become increasingly less violent — yes, despite a world in which every Middle Eastern, African and South American country appears to be protesting its corrupt leadership, Hong Kong students are fighting for democracy against China in a classic David-versus-Goliath battle; and school shootings continue unchecked in the United States.
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"Behind every great man is a great woman”: It’s an adage that’s been brought home to in our postfeminist age. Witness the apotheosis of Michelle Obama on the cover of the current Vogue and the new “Jackie,” with Natalie Portman transcendent as the tragic former first lady.
Indeed, her Jacqueline B. Kennedy and Jackie herself are better than director Pablo Larrain’s “Jackie.” For one thing, the movie’s music, no doubt intended to strike a discordant note, is merely jarring. It underscores other false notes. Why is the boy who plays John F. Kennedy Jr. a blond? And why does Peter Sarsgaard’s Robert F. Kennedy fail to speak with his distinctive broad Boston cadence, particularly when Portman’s Jackie speaks in her signature breathy New Yorkese? And why do we see her not once but twice in a red gown when she mainly favored white and pastel formal wear?
Perhaps this is quibbling. What “Jackie” and Portman’s Jackie do very well is locate her grief and then show us how she cycles through it, reinventing her husband, his presidency – and, thus, herself – in what remains in some ways a pyrrhic victory. ...
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David Brooks – The New York Times’ columnist who never misses an opportunity to miss a point – wrote recently that the reason Hillary Clinton seems unlikable is that she has no hobbies.
Seriously. The column – which let Brooks in for no end of snark – had two flaws.
First, it presupposed that everyone needs a hobby, that being a workaholic is bad. Some people like to work and find the play in work, like the writer who’s a journalist but also a novelist. (That would be me.) Work isn’t stressful. People are stressful. ...
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