My brother had been given a chemistry set for his bar mitzvah, but he wasn't interested in it. It was upstairs in the attic, and I would sneak up there and use it at great peril because I was afraid if he found out, he would get very angry at me, but he didn't seem to care.
When I was in 7th grade, we were all given an exam. It was science and math, and the boys who did well were skipped ahead so that when they got to be juniors or seniors in high school they would be able to go to the local community college and take calculus and physics there. And I wasn't skipped ahead.
Figuring out why people who choose not to do something don't in fact do it is like attempting to interview the elves who live inside your refrigerator but come out only when the light is off.
Judging the political climate in my state by walking around lefty Ann Arbor is like a polar bear judging global warming by staring at the ice cube beneath its feet.
We forget how recently astronomers figured out what the stars are made of, what makes them shine, how distant they are, how they are born, and whether they remain immutable or evolve and die.
Writers find common ground not through the homelands they once inhabited but the thematic questions with which they grapple.
The truth is, the less a subject had to do with the visible world, the more talented I was at solving problems.
