Clips

Okay, okay, I acknowledge that yesterday’s ‘What I’ve Learned’ post was a bit of a cop out. Obviously, it was just a coupla’ song lyrics. Lyrics I dig, meaningful lyrics (including one of mine, damned narcissist), but song lyrics just the same. What can I say? It was a daunting thesis, and I was pressed…

I was born in Iowa City, Iowa, on September 4, 1971. Since that early morning (12:08 a.m.) so many years ago, I have lived in six states, weathered sixteen years of schooling, and worked (at least) eight jobs. I’ve performed some two hundred shows, released more than ten albums, and published dozens of articles in…

The inaugural staging of the Mister Rogers Madaket Triathlon went off without a hitch today. I finished with a new course record — heck, the only recorded course time, ever — of 1:26:19. It was a blustery 60 degrees, windy and full-on rainy when I sprinted down the dunes and into the bay. I’ve never…

The Crooked House — Mr. and Mrs. Rogers’ summer cottage for nearly 50 years — sits empty next door. King Friday’s kingdom away from the Kingdom of Make Believe is sad, and quiet. With the steely gray skies overhead and crisp fall breeze blowing through the dune grass, so am I. I had hoped to…

It’s late (or at least it feels late), and I’m bombed (well, maybe not bombed, but buzzed), otherwise I’d give you the moment-by-moment breakdown of the day. Except, well, all I really did was eat, drink (see above), nap, and lounge around on the beach. Which doesn’t make for much of a narrative. So suffice…

Yes, this is what I do for a living: post images of pop stars kissing. It’s well after five a.m. I’m eating pretzels, drinking Gatorade, listening to Damien Rice, and checking our work over at the MTV News. The city was waking up for the Friday before Labor Day as I stumbled home from our…