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For months, I’d been trying to get my Rockwood Music Hall pals together in an amplifier-free environment. It’s not that I don’t like amplifiers. My recent bout with tinnitus notwithstanding, there are few places I’d rather be than standing between a few of ’em creating a beautiful racket. They’re just conducive to bona fide conversation.…

“We have Will Ferrell, a monkey, a snake, and a baby pool but we don’t know what we’re doing with any of them.” It was that kind of day. “People are having their picture taken, then standing back and taking pictures of their picture projected on the wall.” And it was that kind of night.…

I moved to New York in 1995 with a Takamine acoustic guitar, MacIntosh SE40, and $400 I’d saved in a Quaker Oats box. I was 24-years-old. The city felt dangerous from the moment I stepped off that Greyhound from Saratoga Springs. It was teeming with people — dirty, loud, delusional people gesturing wildly to no…

It’s a recipe for disaster: a five and three-year-old boys, plastic railroad tracks, a wind-up diesel engine, and two fists full of chocolate eggs. Hollywood blockbuster and dime store novel alike are rife with the plot line. Aunt, uncles, grandparents, nieces and nephews gather around the holiday table and chaos ensues. The nephew kicks the…

I have just three, distinct Easter memories. In the first, the year is 1975. I am hunting Easter eggs with my cousins, Kalah and Nancy (she of “Ants, Ants, Ants”) and my brother in the wooded backyard of my Aunt Rosalie’s Baltimore home. I’m wearing plaid pants and a white Lacoste shirt. White, that is,…

“I’m crazy,” Dr. Klion says. “I jogged in from West Chester this morning.” “What!?!” “Yeah, I’m doing the Grand Canyon Rim To Rim in five weeks. 46-miles, five-thousand feet up and down, then back again.” Now, the whole reason I go Dr. Mark Klion is because he’s the best kind of crazy. The walls of…