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The Tourist
In the next six weeks, I will be blogging from Philadelphia, Miami, Nantucket, Los Angeles, and Sydney. And so, lying in bed last night, I resolved that I should add a dateline to my Daily Journal entries. I slept well thereafter. I was on the receiving end of a few bonus hours tonight when a…
View Post Whirlwind
Something’s gotta’ give. My life (like most, I guess) has become a constantly shifting game of prioritization. And I’m gettin’ just a little bit dizzy. What to do first? Eat? Sleep? Run? Return that call to Paramount? Book a hotel in Cairns? Get a visa? Write a set list? Burn CDs for the band? I…
View Post A Rush Of Blood To The Head
My old passport photo. The year is 1990. I’m nineteen-years-old. I’m wearing a red Polo shirt, huge Perry Ellis tortoise shell glasses, and a silly grin. And I have a pony tail. My first passport saw a good bit of use: Italy, France, Switzerland, Guatemala, Belize, Bahamas, Aruba, British Virgin Islands. Fifteen years later, I’m…
View Post Nothing is Good Enough
I have to admit that I was rather relishing the arrival of Hurricane Charley. It’s not that I was hoping to see New York City wiped off the map, or for my surfing and sailing friends to get theirs. I was just hoping for a valid reason to do absolutely, positively nothing. Well, the rain…
View Post Grace
Times Square, 2 a.m. The city isn’t asleep, but it sure is groggy. It could use some rest. A few scattered street vendors hawk their wares. Fake Rolexes remain available, as do matted sketches of Bruce Lee, Pacino, and Tupac. A photographer wanders, then shakes the hand of a horse and buggy driver. Two cops…
View Post Bedshaped, Part II
Coming to you from high atop the Mighty Viacom Building located in beautiful Midtwon Manhattan, Terror Capital of The World, I bring you a brief (and boring) account of yesterday’s news… 630-900: Sleep, no dreams 1000-1800: Work, no dreams 1830-2030: Cockfight rehearsal 2100-2300: Dinner & DVD (pizza, el Presidente, ‘Crimson Tide’) 2300-700: Sleep, no dreams…
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