Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Crying

Who doesn’t love the sun? I always worshiped it in the most delicious, but unhealthy ways, especially when I was young. My altars were rooftops, beaches and convertibles. I always dreaded the end of daylight saving time, when it was shockingly dark at 5 p.m. (It takes place this year on Sunday, Nov. 3, at 2 a.m.) I didn’t like spending the next six months as the sun’s jilted lover, waiting for it to come crawling back to me from Rio, or wherever it had run off to.

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Forget Outing Gay Sports Players. I Outed a Straight One!

Thirty-eight years before the NBA’s Jason Collins announced he was gay, another famous athlete did the same thing. While one is being roundly praised for his actions, the other was mostly scorned. I know. I was reporting from the sidelines.

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Boomers Redefine Sex as Extended Foreplay

I had lunch with a friend last September who’s a few years older than me (I’m 64). He and his wife are in advertising. We hadn’t talked for a while, so I looked forward to our catching up at a local bistro. From the moment we sat down to eat, he began telling me about their rejuvenated sex life. You’d have thought he was 18 the way he carried on, a glow in his eyes.

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High School Gym Class PTSD

If I thought my high school physical education coaches were still alive, I’d write them all demand letters:

I want the C’s you gave me every semester changed to A’s. In so doing, my GPA would be raised to where it should have been. I was an athlete, even if you didn’t know it.

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The Explosive Power of Love, Sex and Fireworks

For much of my life, I could take or leave fireworks.

But that was before I rented the 1955 movie, Summertime, directed by David Lean. In it, Katharine Hepburn plays a spinster school teacher who takes a vacation in Venice and winds up having an affair with the suave owner of an antique store, played by Rossano Brazzi. Upon seeing a phallic- shaped, red wine goblet in his shop window, she decides she has to have it. Romance ensues.

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Why I Went AWOL From Exercise Boot Camp

On the brink of turning 63 last fall, I was determined to prove that I had outfoxed the aging process. So I signed up for boot camp class at my neighborhood health club. I figured I could still do an hour of classic military exercises: squats, thrusts, jumping jacks, planks, sprints and more. I was a boomer whose body hadn’t gone boom. Or so I thought.

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