1/18: Going Out With A Bang (Or A Blog)
7:30 p.m.
• Some hippie writer died.
I'm sure I never read any of his stuff, but what I took note of was that he wrote something to be released after he went up to that big newsroom in the sky.Pulitzer Prize-winning satirist Art Buchwald, who entered a hospice last year to die but survived to write a humorous, yet sobering, book about facing death, has died at age 81, his son said on Thursday.
Buchwald's six-decade career began with chronicling Parisian night life before he moved to the United States to lampoon U.S. politics and culture from Washington.
Art Buchwald wrote a final column that he asked not be distributed until after he died. The piece was penned on Feb. 8, 2006, after Buchwald decided to check into a hospice. He eventually left the hospice, of course, and resumed his syndicated column. Buchwald died last night at the age of 81. Here's the farewell column, courtesy of Tribune Media Services:
Here's the column, for those that care.
After reading this I got the thinking: should I did from a road-rage incident (I had another one of these this morning) or a brawl at the grocery store (haven't had one of these for a while), what would my final words be? God forbid it be something on this blog. Actually, my 5:15 p.m. entry would sum things up just fine. The only thing I would add to it, however, is, "Damn, it's hotter than I expected down here."Several of my friends have persuaded me to write this final column, which is something they claim I shouldn't leave without doing.
There comes a time when you start adding up all the pluses and minuses of your life. In my case I'd like to add up all the great tennis games I played and all of the great players I overcame with my now famous "lob." I will always believe that my tennis game was one of the greatest of all time. Even Kay Graham, who couldn't stand being on the other side of the net from me, in the end forgave me.
I can't cover all the subjects I want to in one final column, but I would just like to say what a great pleasure it has been knowing all of you and being a part of your lives. Each of you has, in your own way, contributed to my life.
Now, to get down to the business at hand, I have had many choices concerning how I wanted to go. Most of them are very civilized, particularly hospice care. A hospice makes it very easy for you when you decide to go.
What's interesting is that everybody has his or her own opinion as to how you should go out. All my loved ones became very upset because they thought I should brave it out -- which meant more dialysis.
But here is the most important thing: This has been my decision. And it's a healthy one.
The person who was the most supportive at the end was my doctor, Mike Newman. Members of my family, while they didn't want me to go, were supportive, too. But I'm putting it down on paper, so there should be no question the decision was mine.
I chose to spend my final days in a hospice because it sounded like the most painless way to go, and you don't have to take a lot of stuff with you.
For some reason my mind keeps turning to food. I know I have not eaten all the eclairs I always wanted. In recent months, I have found it hard to go past the Cheesecake Factory without at least having one profiterole and a banana split.
I know it's a rather silly thing at this stage of the game to spend so much time on food. But then again, as life went on and there were fewer and fewer things I could eat, I am now punishing myself for having passed up so many good things earlier in the trip.
I think of a song lyric, "What's it all about, Alfie?" I don't know how well I've done while I was here, but I'd like to think some of my printed works will persevere -- at least for three years.
I know it's very egocentric to believe that someone is put on earth for a reason. In my case, I like to think I was. And after this column appears in the paper following my passing, I would like to think it will either wind up on a cereal box top or be repeated every Thanksgiving Day.
So, "What's it all about, Alfie?" is my way of saying goodbye.
5:15 p.m.
• This is why I love Jews. Seinfeld has how much money and he is still too cheap to pay some pesky commission? And the best part is that the plantiff is a Jew, too, and she wanted to get paid on a day where she didn't do any work.
Jerry Seinfeld's high-priced Manhattan home is going to cost him more than he thought, about $100,000 more.
A Manhattan judge has ruled the 52-year-old comedian owes about that much as a commission to the broker who helped him find a town house on the Upper West Side that he and wife Jessica bought for $3.95 million in February 2005.
Seinfeld had argued that the broker, Tamara Cohen, didn't deserve the commission because she failed to show the West 82nd Street brownstone on the Jewish Sabbath, the day the Seinfelds wanted to see it.
The Seinfelds looked at the house and made a deal to buy it without Cohen after they were unable to reach her and she failed to return their calls.
Cohen said she had told the Seinfelds she observed the Jewish Sabbath and couldn't work between Friday evening and sundown Saturday. But the Seinfelds told the court they didn't know why Cohen didn't return their calls.
State Supreme Court Justice Rolando Accosta said "the evidence clearly indicates she served as the Seinfelds' real estate broker" and that she had shown them a number of residences before finding the town house.
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