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Chris sat in the deep cushioned lime green and silver armchair like a teenage king on an outsized thrown. He’d already tugged his brand-new official Chicago Bears #34 jersey over his brown-striped, long sleeve polo. Partnered with his knee-patched Toughskin, constituted an envied look by the adolescent court scattered about the living room. Sean Wells…

In the off season (that is, when we weren’t playing whiffle ball), Chris and I used to lock ourselves inside the garage with our neighbors, Sean and Dusty, and lip synch Billy Joel’s “Glass Houses” strumming tennis racket as if they were guitars. The irony, of course, is that there are no guitars on “Glass…

I’m hoping it’s fairly apparent to you what I’ve been up to all weekend. With the exception of a few good runs, a few bad movies (yes, we sat through “Hot Rod”), and a whole bunch of reading (Vanity Fair, New Yorker, New York Times, Rolling Stone and “The Looming Tower: Al-Queda And The Road…

Come Christmas time, my family typically wagers its best gift giving guesses. It’s a less presumptuous and more spontaneous approach, but has a tendency to backfire (like when I find brown leather slippers or plaid flannel boxer shorts under the tree). The Kellers, however, view gift giving a bit differently. The make lists. Less surprises?…

I’m sure of it: I’m the last dude in New York City to hear The Hold Steady. Wednesday night’s Terminal 5 show — the conclusion of band’s sixteen-month Boys & Girls In America Tour — was packed with dudes: Budweiser chugging, hip flask tugging, tobacco chewing, weed smoking, fist pumping, frat boy, douche bags. Or…

Ask anyone. I’m not a huge fan of The Grateful Dead. At the moment, though — traveling seventy miles-per-hour on the Pennsylvania Turnpike some 37 miles west of Harrisburg — “Truckin'” is kinda’ doin’ it for me. Earlier, I remarked to my brother — who is a huge Deadhead, so huge that the only CDs…