Mayflower Voyage (1620)
A man and his manopause

There are moments, at age 57, when I feel stiff and rusty, like something Picasso welded together. For instance, I ate so many marinated mushrooms the other night that I threw out my back. I also cleaned the garage earlier that day, which probably didn't help. It also didn't help that my wife stressed me out over what I could throw out. We clashed on a fundamental level. She argued that nothing in the garage needed to go; I argued that it could all go, the whole dusty wad of outgrown toys and wounded garden gear, the 30 or so wicker baskets she stacks along the back wall. (Theoretically, you could survive with five wicker baskets, opening up vast territories where I could then...