The Miracle Of Showing Up
We rarely do much of anything in Nantucket, and I like it that way.
A typical day might involve a good run, a real breakfast (eggs, pancakes, etc), a trip to the beach, magazines, books, puzzles, and the ever-essential mid-day nap.
We rarely leave our little corner of the island save for trip to Cisco Brewers (for pints of Whale's Tale Pale Ale), Bartlett Farms (for fresh corn, tomatoes, and blueberry pie), and 167 (aka East Coast Seafood, for whatever Bill's caught that day).
Whatever we do, and wherever we go, the one constant is ...
Lightning In A Bottle
If life is a collection of moments, all strung together and played back in contrast and context to one another, then the defining moment from last summer's trip to Nantucket was that of a lone cottage against a wide, evening sky.
The photo was taken from a narrow, wooden bridge on the western edge of Madaket's Hither Creek. The shutter of my Canon Rebel XT's lens was flung wide to capture dusk's fleeting light. The sky was clear. The water was still. And while the clapboard house, framed by open water and empty sky, was splendid in its ...
ACK ‘08
Over the years, I've invested a lot in the restorative powers of Nantucket.
For me, for better or worse, true or false, the island has provided significant counterpoint to this island.
Still, the place was something of an acquired taste.
I first visited Nantucket just a few months after moving to Manhattan. I was living with my brother, surviving on hot dogs and generic Tang paid for by the $5/hour I was earning keeping the Men's Journal equipment closet.
My mother, perhaps sensing a post-collegiate slump, invited me to crash on ...
Happy Birthday Edward!
My nephew, Edward Isaac, turned two on Thursday. We celebrated Sunday morning.
Two short weeks ago, Edward was wrestling with just a few new words: blue, mama, dadda.
Yesterday, though, he was forming complete sentences like, "I got it."
It's an amazing, exciting process to watch.
As is the dynamic between he and his older brother. Edward's a happy kid: following Ethan, copying his every move, and grinning the whole time. Ethan adores and protects him, bristling when the limits of his authority are breached (like when his ...
Saving Mister Rogers
I'm blessed and lucky for my brief but meaningful time with Mister Rogers, and the wheels those few moments set in motion.
When I need a dose of calm, or insight on managing my anger, sadness, or fear in the face of this crazy, crazy world, I don't have to go anywhere or do anything. I just pause, and I hear him in my head.
What's more, he's rarely out of eyeshot. At my office, a photo of us in the living room of his Crooked House rests on a shelf above my desk, and a postcard reading, "I'm so glad we're friends" is tacked to my ...
Strangers Into Starmen: Aimee Mann At Highline Ballroom
Rock 'n roll is all about release.
Leonard Cohen calls it "the minor fall and major lift." Bono says it's "when God enters the building."
Call it what you will; it's all about transcendence. And it's difficult to come by, even when you try.
I'm not entirely sure Aimee Mann was shooting for any sort of transcendence at last night's Highline Ballroom show. Her defiant avoidance of it, in fact, may have been a fairly radical choice. Or it may have just been a bad call. I'm not sure.
Of course, Mann's solo career has been ...
Magic In The Night: Bruce Springsteen At Giants Stadium
Giants Stadium. Dusk. The house lights flicker, then fade. Carnival music wafts from the PA. The E Street Band emerges: Little Steven, Patti, Clearance. A spotlight burns a white-hot line through the summer haze. A figure ascends: rounded shoulders, unruly mane. The cheer rises up.
"Bruuuuuuce!!!"
Springsteen returns the greeting.
"New Jersey!" he yells into the microphone. "New Jersey!! Newww Jerseyyy!!!"
And then it happens, the countdown that's launched a million songs.
"1, 2, 3, 4!!!"
The band catapults into "Out ...
The Brickyard 400 (Or, My Days Of Thunder)
This is it: The Fall of Rome.
And this is how it goes: blue sky, 85 degrees, 300,000 people, 42 modified stock cars hurtling around a two and a half mile track at 170 mile per hour, and lots and lots of beer.
This is the Allstate 400 at the Brickyard, aka The Brickyard 400.
It's Death Race, Gladiator, and The Running Man. The MPHs and RPMs are impressive, but we're here for the five-car pile up: crushed steel, shattered plastic, frayed rubber.
We hatched the plan at my bachelor party. Ten months later, here we care: high school ...
Cool It Off Before You Burn It Out
In the summer between my sophomore and junior years at Syracuse University, I drove from Philadelphia to San Diego and back, camping and crashing at friend's and family's homes in Chicago, Iowa City, Minneapolis, Denver, and points in-between (including an ill-fated layover in Darwin, Minnesota where
Comic-Con Reconsidered (Or, The Triumph Of The Nerds)
Prevailing wisdom about San Diego's Comic-Con is that it's an assembly of misfits, nerds, freaks and geeks salivating over B-listers, back issues, and collectibles.
In fact, I traded in that very same simplistic, diminishing description as recently as just last night.
Tonight, though, I counter with a new thesis.
Comic-Con is an inspirational gathering of apparently disparate peoples: young and old, physically capable and challenged, thin and not-so. It is a safe space for difference, where the one's unique offering is rewarded and ...
