After a year and a half of sussing out a pandemic, surge-no surge, vax-no vax, mask-open face, it was refreshing to actually hear that cancer kills more Americans per year than Covid did in its tragic scourge. Not that anybody wants to hear about a deadly disease of any kind—or killing. In fact, it was a happy moment to be in a somewhat crowded Bridgehampton tent with glamorously dressed Hamptonites some of whom were wearing high heels as they tread across the grass, the property of the Fishel family for the annual Samuel Waxman’s Cancer Research Foundation Benefit. As I do every year I attend this fun party, I pondered an irony: my mother, the late Pola Weinreich died in the care of this world-renowned oncologist at Mount Sinai in 1996. Should I say something when I see him, remind him of an event commonplace to him and devastating to me? A sign of a good doctor, Samuel Waxman always very much wants to talk about her demise and the deadly disease that he was hoping to cure in his lifetime with the foundation he created so many years ago. “Did we do whatever we could for her,” he asks, caring. “Thank you for coming.”
It felt like home to actually be inside at Guild Hall’s John Drew Theater for stand-up comic Mike Birbiglia. Looking like a grown-up little kid in khakis and plaid, he takes you to the men’s locker room of the YMCA and you can actually see in your mind’s eye, an old man caressing his balls with talcum powder. It’s an image you cannot unsee, and it made for the best review of his show as a woman shouted out, “That’s my life.”
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