Thursday, August 20, 2026
1953 General Fazlollah Zahedi arrested the democratically elected Iranian Prime Minister Mohammad Mosaddegh in a CIA-supported coup d'état
1968 During the night, 250,000 Soviet and Warsaw Pact troops invaded Czechoslovakia to put down the Prague Spring
2025 The United States Department of State imposed sanctions on International Criminal Court judges Nicolas Guillou and Kimberly Prost and deputy prosecutors Nazhat Shameem and Mame Mandiaye Niang over their involvement in cases concerning Israel and the United States.
Morning meds at a.m. Entresto at 7:15 a.m. and p.m.
The Secret History. As I type these words, I've finished the first 7 of the novel's 8 chapters and am about to start the 8th, which, alas, is more than 100 pages long. I don't have a clue how the story will end. Will the miscreant college students get caught by the police or will they get away with their wrongdoing? If they are found out, will it be because one of them spills the beans, or only through good detective work by law enforcement? If one of them spills the beans, will it be inadvertently, or intentionally à la Raskolnikov, and who would be the bean spiller? My guess right now is Charles Macauley, who has turned into quite a drunk, but who knows? Is Richard, the narrator, writing this book in prison, because he's already been convicted so why not? Or, it being so damning of himself and his co-conspirators, why would it write it? The chapter on Bunny's funeral in Connecticut is chilling and almost unbelievable. The murderers all stay in Bunny's own home, with his parents and siblings. Henry, the conspirator-in-chief, the group's evil genius, is one of Bunny's pallbearers. Egads!
Reading the funeral chapter made me wonder again what Donna Tartt thought of her classmates at Bennington College, the school on which Hampden College is based. Spoiled, rich, pampered, over-privileged, morally bankrupt, yikes! I compare them to the folks I went to Marquette with in the early 1960s, where I never encountered, or at least never befriended, anyone like these characters. Most of my pals were in the Navy ROTC, headed for years of active duty in the Navy or Marine Corps after graduation. They were, so far as I knew, solid citizens and, though not sinless, moral creatures. The same is true of the Marines I served with in the mid-60s, none of them capable of cold-blooded murder of one of their fellows. But these characters, holy moly! I'm glad I stuck with the novel and now am committed to seeing it through to the end.
Words of wisdom in The Pitt last night. We watched 3 consecutive episodes of this appropriately-much-awarded television series last night. It was not a smart thing to do before going to bed, and I suspect doing so contributed to my sleeplessness, though I doubt it as the only cause. In the dramas, I heard at least 3 bits of wisdom. The first, which I heard more than once, was "Stop feeling sorry for yourself," said at least once by the attending physician, Dr. Robby, to a young physician serving a residency, and once by the charge nurse to the attending physician himself. Another was a comment by a patient to an examining physician, "I don't worry. My mother taught me: worrying won't add a minute to your life." The third was by a patient in his 80s to his daughter: "We old people know what it is to be young, but no young persons know what it is to be old." When my Dad lived with us in his mid-80s, and I was sitting in with him during his doctor visits and hospital visits, sharing every day with him, I, in my mid-60s, thought I had some idea what life was like for him, and I surely did, but only some idea. I now find myself thinking back to those days and trying to imagine what was going through his head and what was happening to his body, and never spoken of.
Bad news. For the last 8 months, ever since I was diagnosed with congestive heart failure, I've started each day taking and recording my weight, blood pressure, heart rate, and glucose count. Before taking the blood pressure and heart rate/pulse, I have to sit quietly on my bedroom La-Z-Boy, with both feet flat on the floor for at least 5 minutes. Usually I do so for 10 minutes, during which I listen to the New York Times audio headline stories on my iPhone. The news, of course, is usually bad, today leading off with the national debt exceeding $40 trillion and inexorably growing. I thought of this as I read my comments from a year ago today on an Ezra Klein interview in the previous day's Times:
One of my most inconvenient belliefs is about the world is that we know too much about it, and that the human mind is not meant to be stretched over this much threat and danger and tragedy at all times. I work in the news. My show is part of this dynamic I'm about to describe, but the news can seometimes be an engine for finding and bringing you whatever is going to most upset you, that is happening literally anywhere on Earth exactly at that moment . . . I think probably the healthy medium was to be able to pick up a newspaper once a day and find out about terrible things happening elsewhere and important things happening elsewhere and sometimes wonderful things, but less often wonderful things happening elsewhere. As opposed to being with your kids in the park and your phone buzzes and it's just something terrible that you cannot affect. It's not happening to anyone you know and you definately don't have power over it, but somebody somewhere thought it would grab you to know about it. It both make you aware of suffering but also, I think it has some other quality, some numbing and exhausing quality that is not healthy.
I think of that Vietnam veteran I chatted with in Sendik's yesterday and his complaint or bewilderment over his nephew who kissed off living in America and moved to New Zealand. He didn't say where in New Zealand he moved to, whether an urban or a rural area, nor how the nephew was supporting himself there, or what it is about life in America that he found so intolerable, but it wouldn't surprise me if at least part of what he wanted to escapte from was what Klien described, constant exposure to terrible news about which one can do nothing. There is much more about curent American culture, including politics of course, that can make one feel like the man on the bridge in Edvard Munch's The Scream, but Klein has put his finger on a significant cause of modern misery, the daily awareness of human suffering, of death and destruction, about which we can do nothing. Klein says it tends to make us numb and exhausted, but I suspect it's even worse. It coarsens us and makes us indifferent to the suffering of others. After a while, it becomes boring. We can become like Donald Trump when he says of the Ukraine War or the Gaza War, as he did before professing to be concerned about the slaughter in those places, "it's not my problem." Or, as J. D. Vance said to Steve Bannon during his campaign for the Senate, "I gotta be honest with you, I don't really care what happens to Ukraine one way or another." The hard question, for Ezra Klein and the rest of us, is what to do about this dystopian situation we live in, especially we relatively highly-educated, highly-informed individuals who religiously follow 'the news.'
Both in the world and in the U.S., things have only gotten worse over the last year as we suffered through another Trump administration. I think, for example, of one small segment of one of the episodes on The Pitt last night, in which big, burly masked ICE agents brought in a detainee from a restaurant raid they had conducted. Their mere presence caused some of the patients in the waiting room, and some of the hospital employees, to flee the building. I think too of the horrendous danger from the burgeoning national debt. The atrocities occurring daily in Ukraine, Gaza, the West Bank, and Sudan, with most of us like ostriches with our heads in the sand.




