The NyQuil Weekend
We took the day off, reserved the rental car, packed the ski pants, and even MapQuested the route. But alas, it was not to be.
You'll recall that Abbi and I were planning on spending the weekend in Vermont with Chris and Meg Abad. We were going to ski by day, play beer pong at night, and even squeeze in a quick recording (well, Chris and I were).
Unfortunately, Abbigail was sick with the flu all week. As our Friday morning departure approached, it became abundantly clear that snow, beer pong, and late nights weren't gonna cut ...
Self Cleaning
I walk in the door, put down my keys, and start flipping through the mail: New York, New Yorker, Con Ed. Abbi emerges from the kitchen, kisses me, and collapses into my arms.
"The first day back from vacation always sucks," I whisper into her ear.
"It's not that," she says looking up at me and grinning. "I'm starving, and I don't know what to cook."
She pauses.
"So we're having chicken."
I follow her into the kitchen where two breasts lay marinating in a shallow bowl.
"It smells weird in here," I say. "Is there a gas ...
Shaking All The Nonsense Out
It took some convincing to get noted author, activist, singer/songwriter and mystic Bo Lozoff to preside over Abbigail and my wedding ceremony.
In addition to his 200+ days on the road speaking in prisons, schools and churches on behalf of his Human Kindness Organizations' Prison-Ashram Project, Bo co-manages the affairs of his organization with his wife, corresponds with hundreds of prisoners and scholars alike, publishes a monthly newsletter, writes songs and releases records, and somehow finds the time to meditate twice daily and ...
Let’s Go Somewhere Else
My first inclination was to hail a cab.
According to my Apple Dashboard weather widget, it was fourteen degrees when I stepped through the revolving doors of 1515 Broadway into Times Square.
I live just over a mile from my office. It takes me roughly twenty minutes to walk west on 45th, then north on Tenth to 56th Street. Most evenings, it's a welcome respite. Tonight, though, it was a trek worthy of Sir Edmund Hillary.
February in New York City, you see, is positively hostile.
The wind is bone dry, and tears through layers. ...
‘Cuz When The Feeling’s Right
I ran a half marathon yesterday. Abbigail, wisely, sat it out.
Chris and I had returned from our whirlwind trip to Nantucket just twelve-hours prior when we met at the start of the Manhattan Half Marathon behind the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
He, Jen and I were quickly seperated in the 5000+ runner start, so I settled in, reminding myself over and over that this was a long, long run -- a distance I hadn't travelled since the New York City Marathon.
I ran track for exactly one year in high school: eighth grade. I rather ...
Hell’s Kitchen Confidential
I tell her she doesn't know how good she's got it, but she's not having any of it.
See, I'm a neat guy, but I'm not a clean guy. I figure most guys are neither, and worse are beer-swillin', couch-squattin' channel surfers. So, if nothing else, I should be gettin' some points for neatness. But it doesn't really work that way. (Anyway, we have different criteria for neatness, but that's another post.)
Were you to have visited either of my bachelor pads, you'd have observed order on the surface: white walls, right-angled frames, books ...
Born To Run
I'm often asked why I run the New York City Marathon. Here's my top ten.
10 - It's There. Or, more succinctly, it's right here! The Marathon route comes within four blocks of Abbi and my apartment. In fact, yesterday, as we barrelled towards Columbus Circle, I said to Abbi (in an attempt to galvanize her resolve), "Look, there's our grocery store." I don't think it helped. But seeing the Empire State coming down Fifth, Cat Hill in Central Park, or The Plaza, is energizing. It's my back yard. I don't think I could stand to sit it ...
I’ll Be Right Beside You Dear
It's remarkable how out of shape one can feel just three days before a marathon.
This was my statement to Abbigail as we began running this morning.
My knees were sore (especially the one wrecked from last year's freak slide accident). My hips were sore. I felt stiff and tired.
Now, we planned the wedding and everything else around the New York City Marathon (my eighth, Abbi's third). In fact, in an effort to coordinate our honeymoon with our taper (traditionally, the three weeks prior to any marathon involve far fewer miles than ...
All I Want Is You, Part II
"If it feels like I'm leaning on you to keep from passing out, I am."
I am standing beneath an ivy-covered trellis adjacent to the Inn at Brays Island.
I am wearing a navy blue, two-button Versace suit; a pinpoint cotton, spread collar, French-cuffed Charles Tyrwhitt shirt; a navy, periwinkle and brown diagonally striped Luigi Borrelli tie, and Joseph Aboud wing-tips.
My right hand is resting on Bo's shoulder, my left on Sibby's. My family is jostling around me, all of us in some sort of stunned, awed, overwhelmed silence.
...
La Luna
There isn't a ton of upside to waking up at four o'clock in the morning wrecked from an eleven hour time zone shift and a three weeks absence from the office.
Sitting here on the couch of my Hell's Kitchen living room just now, though, reading an article Steve Martin wrote for The New Yorker ("Through the years," he writes, "I have learned that there is no harm in charging one's self up with delusions between moments of valid inspiration"), I noticed a bright, white light out of the corner of my eye.
At first I thought it was a spotlight ...
