Love In The Time Of H1N1

One never knows how a four o’clock rock show is going to turn out. We’re not talking the Iowa State Fair here. We’re talking New York City on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Ends up it’s one heck of a time to rock. Chris Abad and I booked the show months ago not because four o’clock…

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Better Be Home Soon

Everyone’s losing their job. If not, they’re loathing it. Mine’s like Whack-a-Mole or Missile Command or a California wildfire; I resolve one issue, and another pops up, or falls from the sky, or catches fire. You get the idea. Still, even at the end of a Tuesday that feels like a Thursday, at the end…

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Forever & Always

You may recall that one of the “A Holiday Benefit, Vol. II” silent auction items was a “Custom Benjamin Wagner Song.” This was the pitch: “Singer/songwriter will collaborate with YOU on a song. At the end of the process, you’ll get two (2) signed CDs with YOUR song plus original album art. Minimum Bid: $75.”…

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Planned Parenthood

On the street, Edward refused to take my hand, issuing a long, withdrawn, “Nooooooooooo!” So I carried him. On the subway platform, the roar of the trains scared him. So I held him, whispering, “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.” Abbi and I took Ethan and Edward for a few, long hours…

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Our Own Devices

Left to my own devices, I would spend my time off in one of two ways: sitting on a beach drinking local beer after a three-dive day, or sitting on my couch watching movies, reading Esquire, The New Yorker, Vanity Fair or a good rock bio. And in fact, I’ve done a fair dose of…

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Vows (Or, I’ll Work For Your Love)

At the end of the day, the meet cute doesn’t count for much. I mean, make no mistake; it’s a cute story. I thank my lucky stars that Abbi happened onto my Friendster profile, found my website, came to my rock show, and tapped me on the shoulder — to say nothing of the fact…

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Discharged

When I woke, my wife, mother, and doctor stood over me like a Holy Trinity. I tried to speak, but could only gesture to Abbi for a kiss. I didn’t remember anything prior, or have any idea where I was. Through the fog, I heard Dr. Dawson report that the surgery went by the book.…

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Patience

The Lenox Hill’s ER was manned by a slight, Russian-speaking security guard. “Name, age, and ailment,” he said handing me a pink slip of paper. Benjamin Wagner. 37. I paused at “ailment,” puzzling over how detailed I should be. I wrote, simply, “APPENDIX,” then took my seat in the dank, crowded waiting room. An elderly…

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Patient

In some strange way, I felt relieved as I strode towards Lenox Hill Hospital’s Emergency Room with my plastic bag full of still-wet CAT scans; at least I knew what was wrong, and what had to be done. It was a strange day from the start. I’d slept scarcely a wink the night before, dragging…

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At Least We’ll Leave Before We Have To Go

“New York is all about what could be,” says David Cloyd, a 34-year-old musician who moved to the city from Austin ten years ago. “You know: The potential. The possibilities.” New York Magazine is the source of Mr. Cloyd’s quote, at least partially responsible for my sense of urban, upwardly-mobile aspiration. The Intelligencer’s cocktail party…

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