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Just in from my first Tribeca Film Festival screening, ‘This So Called… Disaster.’ It is a documentary following Nick Nolte, Sean Penn, and Woody Harrelson through rehearsals of writer/actor/director Sam Shepard’s ‘The Late John Moss,’ a play based largely on Shepard’s own life. It was terrific. The film is so loaded with paternal conflict, hard-drinking,…

The year was 1981. I was ten-years-old. I lived in Oak Park, Illinois, home of Frank Lloyd Wright, Ernest Hemingway, and original Tarzan Bruce Bennett. My parents had just seperated, soon to divorce. It was winter. It was cold. Windy City, white out, Great Lakes cold. I was in fifth grade. I tried out for…

It has been a partly-sunny (or was it partly-cloudy?) weekend of NPR, The New York Times, long runs in the park, and long walks through the city alone with quiet thoughts. And it has been a weekend of allergies: pasty, puffy, itchy eyes; a runny nose; pills, sprays and drops. Chris and I went running…

I was just sitting in my livingroom reading Runner’s World on my couch when the first humid breeze of the year blew through the curtains. It smelled sweet, felt warm. I paused and turn towards it, inhaled and smiled. Summer, sweet summer, is just around the corner, and I couldn’t be more glad. I’ve gotten…

I’ll be brief, because it’s late (enough), and I have miles in the morning. I just got in from a screening of ‘X2: X-Men Unite’ at 20th Century Fox’s corporate screening room. Finally, a perc from my job! There were a dozen people there. The theater held 24 people. It was a brand-new print. The…

Monday. Couldn’t sleep. First it was the sugar buzz from fat-free yogurt. Then it was trucks on 10th Avenue. Then my neighbors came home and stomped around upstairs, all laughter and “shhhhhhh!” Then it was my allergies: eyes itching, sticky, couldn’t breath, headache. Finally said ‘fuck it,’ at 5:30, and got out of bed. Logged…

There’s a horrible squeaking on my rail car, Amtrak Acela Express #2214, bound from Philadelphia to New York City. But at least I’m sitting down. I left Paoli Station, just minutes from my mother’s bucolic suburban home, at 6:15, almost four hours ago. But it’s Easter Sunday, and all the good Catholics were returning home,…

I’ve sat down to my Powerbook a few times this week to update The Daily Journal, but found myself lacking anything of real merit to say. I realized tonight that there are a few loose threads to sew up, some unfinished business to tend too… First, the fun stuff: my music. As you’ll recall, I…