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Soul Meets Body
I checked my last Xanax through to Logan before I could choke it down. I’m in seat 3A of an eight-seat Cessna 402, a plane only slightly larger than a station wagon. I’m not quite white knuckling this puddle jump between Nantucket and Boston, but I am uncomfortable. I am remarkably lucid. Too lucid. There…
Read MoreHoliday Road
Best. Ride. Ever. I was grilling a piece of freshly caught tuna when it rolled in. The sun faded. The bay disappeared. The air cooled. Tiny droplets of fog clung to my eyelashes. After dinner, I rode my bike out across the Smith Point Bridge. The night was silent. Everything was pale blue. I couldn’t…
Read MoreThe Lady With The Spinning Head
My car departs at 4:45. I’ve packed swim trunks, running shoes, and my iPod. That’s it. Delta Shuttle departs Marine Air Terminal at six o’clock. I arrive Logan 6:56. I arrive Nantucket at nine a.m. The sweaty city may never hear from me again. I’ll be thinking of you. I promise.
Read MoreWhat Sarah Said
I get some text messages now and again, but they’re neither funny nor provocative. I’m a little old school with the whole typing on the phone thing anyway. It’s kind of annoying. Email, though? Lifeblood of The MTV, and fun part of doin’ this site. So, with a nod to Sara B, here’s a bunch…
Read MoreMassive Attack
It struck like lightning. I was fresh from Stella, strawberries, and the New York City Philharmonic — complete with fireworks — on the Great Lawn. I had just walked — maybe “swam” would be a better choice of words — across Central Park, and climbed five sweaty flight of stairs to my apartment (listening, it’s…
Read MoreHot August Night
For a second, I can imagine I¹m sitting next to Carole King, John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Which I guess makes me the dude from Herman’s Hermits. Or maybe Neil Diamond. The best part about seeing the Pixies (and later Wilco) perform at Hollywood’s famed Greek Theater was finally having visuals to accompany the audio…
Read MoreKilling Yourself To Live
It really doesn’t take much to rescue one’s self from melancholic exile. It’s a self-imposed exile, really. I’ve withdrawn, I’ll hand it to you. The reasons are complicated, and personal, and the kind of thing I’m not going to give away for free. They’re well-intentioned. Chopping wood, carrying water — that sorta’ thing. Yesterday wasn’t…
Read MoreYour Love Is Gonna Drown
I set myself up for melancholy from the word go. My weekend beach plans fell through, so I was in no hurry to leave The MTV. I was filling out a CRF (computer request form) when it occurred to me that the office was a ghost town, and that filling out a CRF on a…
Read MoreI Will Follow You Into The Dark
I had the most beautiful dream last night. Still, it scared me just a little bit. I lived in Telluride, CO, a tiny mining-turned-resort town tucked nearly 9000 feet into a tiny corner of the San Juan range, during the summer between my junior and senior years in college. At 9078 feet, the Telluride Regional…
Read MoreSet The Moon
It’s one o’clock in the morning. Producer Guy Benny and I are toiling on my forthcoming EP, “The Rivington Sessions,” when I turn to him and say, “At least let me buy you dinner.” “Nah, I’m fine, thanks,” Guy says. “I think there’s a Pepsi in the fridge.” It was that kind of night. Guy…
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