Midlife Meditation

This was the summer I did right. Up until this year, I have never finished a summer regret-free. There's always been something to mourn as the days begin to shorten, the leaves change, and the heat dissipates: opportunities missed, chances not taken, seasonal fruit not consumed in adequate quantities to trigger satisfaction. And to be honest, there were a few moments, particularly in the fruit category, that I did not fully exploit this summer; but only a few. Fruit, for instance: I could've done with one more flat of Hood strawberries. And I only went out once to pick blackberries, though I still might hit the vines one more time before the berries start to shrivel. But I've had raspberries, peaches, Hermiston watermelons, corn on the cob, and blueberries by the pound. I've also been to both major Portland beer festivals, early enough that I was able to taste every beer I was interested in-- and I had the privilege of introducing my now-21-year-old son to these ...

 I know what you're thinking: "Why on earth is he beginning an essay on the joys of casual dress with a shot of himself in a tuxedo?" I could be wrong about what you're thinking; it might, in fact, be "My, what a handsome fellow." Or perhaps it's a combination of the two. Maybe you don't find me even remotely attractive. Maybe my shorty-cropped beard and earring are, in your mind, clashing with the tux. Maybe I should just give up trying to read your mind. In fact, the picture proves a point I shall be making throughout this essay: there is a time and place for formal dress. In fact, there are times and places for every degree of sartorial sophistication, from to-the-nines to birthday suit. But I get ahead of myself. This post was occasioned by a piece on Slate by film critic Dana Stevens, later expanded upon in the Slate Culture Gabfest podcast. Ms. Stevens, who goes to great extremes in her day job to present as fair and balanced an approa...