Even as we celebrated Roger Angell’s 100th birthday last month (if you love Maine or baseball or the New Yorker, click that) . . .

, , , and even as I got to attend a Zoom last week with sharp-as-a-teen Norman Lear (who turned 98 in July) . . .

. . . it’s undeniable:  Not all of us will live forever.

(Which may not be so bad, if you’ve read Harvard brain surgeon Eben Alexander’s Proof of Heaven, skeptic though I am.)

So this morning, while we await the fate of mankind, I offer two obits:


I’m 13 years late with this, but though like anyone my age I certainly knew who he was — I had no idea!

So, better late than never.

And just 90 seconds.


(Thanks, Mel.)


He died last week at 92.

What an obit.

Randi visited me in 1973 after Uri Geller had driven me blind-folded through Central Park.

(What was remarkable was that it was Geller, not I, who was blindfolded.)

After Randi helped me expose Geller, we stayed a little in touch.

It was an honor to know him.


An obit for Jared Kushner’s real estate.


An obit for hundreds of thousands of South Americans lost to COVID.   It seems Trump had a lot to do with that, too.





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