I've written it here several times before, Stephen Hunter is the best film critic in all the land. He hadn't been reviewing movies lately and I was wondering why. Now I know. He had a heart attack. He's doing better.
I will say that, psychologically, the attack had almost no weight at all. When I see the leaves on the trees in the summer and I realize that at 61 I'll see them for fewer years than I've already seen them, that depresses me. The same is true of women's legs in the summer, or good movies or nice guns. All those emblems of diminishment to the inescapable vanishing point are enough to make me tragically rue the two-drink rule.