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The Gloaming
Abbi and I walked down Broadway in silence, our breath trailing somewhere behind. Save for the rogue plow and off-duty cab, the snow-covered, ice-choked city was still asleep. Late Friday afternoon, and as the streets locked up with frozen rain and snow and the airlines threw in the towel, I watched online as eight Amtrak…
Read MoreRandom Notes Volume XIV
I’ve taken to doing speed work in the mornings. Basically, I sprint a quarter mile, then recover for a half mile, then do it all again. It’s supposed to make me faster, and thinner; alternating intensity helps one lose weight faster than a steady pace. This morning, as I rounded the top of The Reservoir,…
Read MoreClose Your Eyes (And Start To See)
Sam said I buried the lead. The truth is, it was a double murder. The subject line read, “Benjamin Wagner Invites You To Rock And Muthafuckin’ Roll!” The details were as follows: Host: Benjamin Wagner Location: Rockwood Music Hall 196 Allen Street, New York City When: Sunday, March 25, 7:00pm Phone: 212-477-4155 Join Chris Abad,…
Read MoreHow The West Was Won (And Where It Got Us)
I just got sidetracked by a flashback to November, 2004. Bush had just stolen another election. Heather had just been published. And I had just released “Love & Other Indoor Games,” moved to 80th Street, and hit rock bottom. I read those words now and shiver. I remember being That Guy. I remember finding myself…
Read MoreWest Of The Fields
I don’t generally mind signing my name to checks, contracts and the like. I pretend I’m signing an autograph, and let the loops on the B, W, and G (which are the only distinguishable letters in my signature anyway) go wild. The wee hours of this morning, though, found Abbi and I scribbling our names…
Read MoreI Believe (When I Fall In Love It Will Be Forever)
She said yes. The question, it could be argued, was a long time coming. The concept, it could be argued, has inspired almost every song, every blog entry, and damn near every conversation prior to this one. For me, it was never a question of whether I’d get married; my parent’s divorce hadn’t sullied the…
Read MoreComing Through In Waves
I was face down on the massage table, a masseuse’s elbow deep into my shoulder blades, when it occured to me that the tinkling, piped-in Muzak overhead was Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb.” Kind of odd, I thought (between bouts of excruciating pain). Kind of sad, too. But frankly, it kind of worked. Like many before…
Read MoreHave Heart My Dear
Truth is, given how little I’ve run in the last four months, I probably had no business tackling the Hollywood Hills. Runyon Canyon, a 130 acre city park, rises over 700 feet between Hollywood Boulevard and Mullholland Drive. My hotel was less than six blocks from the Fuller Avenue entrance. Straight uphill. Friday morning was…
Read MoreGo Home, Jake
Yesterday it was Kurt Loder. This morning it was Britney Spears. Or maybe it was the traffic on Highland, already gathering to a dull roar before five o’clock. Either way, I’ve slept scarcely seven hours in two nights. I’ve pulled the blinds of my seventh-story, east-facing hotel room wide open. The view stretches from the…
Read MoreThey Love It In Pomona
When I was a kid savoring every page of Rolling Stone magazine, and marveling at “Rebel Without A Cause,” the Capitol Records building and Griffith Observatory seemed about as foreign and glamourous as you could get. This morning, both are in the shadow of the Hollywood sign right outside my window. Duran Duran was on…
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