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The Next Big Thing
Ok, fun’s over. I enjoyed my post-marathon day off yesterday. I weatherproofed the apartment a little bit (and not a moment too soon) and went for my annual post-marathon massage (mmmmmm), but basically, I ate, drank, and watched tv. You may recall that Chris and I threw out our television (which is to say got…
Read MoreSweetness Follows
After 26.2 miles through five boroughs, I should have some storytelling for you: some message, some moral, something. But I can’t seem to find the words, the message, the moral, or anything. I’m just tired. The Marathon is the penultimate race of the year for me. All of ’em — the half marathons, all the…
Read More“I don’t really know what to say tonight,” Michael said. “Sometimes a well crafted pop song can say it all.” This morning I was too dizzy to walk. Tonight, I am too dizzy to type. The Earth, my earth, anyway, has tilted off axis. And even a well-crafted pop song can’t save me. My brother…
Read MoreI couldn’t walk this morning. I felt dizzy and off-balance, like the earth was spinning too quickly. I tried the 1/9 instead of taking the B to the 1/9, and was rewarded with ten minutes stuck inside the train at the 72d Street station as three express trains hurtled past towards Times Square. They finally…
Read MoreWhat the fuck? Is anyone awake out there? Dudes, this guy lied bold-faced to the world about a war that didn’t have to happen. He has henchmen on his team who advocate stripping prisoners and stacking them on top of one another. He’s spent $140B on a high-tech war but can’t even armor his military’s…
Read MoreJohn Lennon fell in love with Yoko Ono at one of her shows. He entered a cavernous gallery empty save for a ladder. He climbed the ladder and found a magnifying glass hanging from a string. Through the magnifying glass, etched on the ceiling in fine print, was one word … Yes. I’ve always liked…
Read MoreInto The West
“You could furnish an entire studio apartment with all the stuff you’re throwing away,” Chris said. By the time we pulled away from 447 West 56th, the apartment he and I shared from ’95-’99, and that I stayed in solo until last week, the word was out. Transients from all corners of the Hell’s Kitchen…
Read MoreMad World
Ten years in New York City, it was bound to happen. I woke up on the 3 train at 148th Street and Martin Luther King Boulevard. In Harlem. At midnight. ‘Hmmmm,’ I thought. ‘Where the fuck am I?’ Yeah, that was me: the really, really white dude with Poindexter glasses, a brown suede jacket and…
Read MoreTo Sir With Love
This one goes out to the one I love … I’ve long been a devotee of Michael Stipe’s world view regarding love. You don’t sing about it. And if you do, you sing about obsessive love, dysfunctional love, or ironic love. “A simple prop to occupy my time.” That sorta’ thing. But a few factors…
Read MoreAll That You Can’t Leave Behind
I’m walking down 80th Street towards my apartment singing ‘Happy Birthday’ into my father’s answering machine. It’s approaching 10 p.m. and I haven’t even managed to wish him well in person. I’m just that stupid right now. I’m sneaking ‘Love & Other Indoor Games’ tasks into my already ridiculously jam-packed MTV News, MTV Movies, Choose…
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