Generals, sculptors, and gynecologists.
I broke the Savior from Oberammergau in Upstate New York.
Where country clubs and golf courses used to bloom, George Washington once marched.
Surplus poses of Internet arguments, social media tsuris, and awards season riff raff.
Our seeking of the past seems to be an unconscious event, and yet it’s always present. We may reject it, but for how long?
Edmonton, Alberta might get colder than the surface of Mars this winter. Lynden is practically Maui in comparison.
Long-lived taverns of prohibition and beyond, framed celebrities on walls.
The indictment of an innocent man in America.
I am the modern rover—watch me walk and talk.
Ghosts of Studio 54 and the Gallo Opera House at 254 W. 54th St.
A review of Stephen King’s The Institute.
Hot take artist Brian Powell finds his way behind bars, then quite predictably calls for abolition of the police.
Everybody’s pushing against the middle.
My life in the car.
Paleocon Diary (#207).
We live in an age of dialectical tensions.
We saw our futures in these men.
Jeff Lemire’s graphic novel Frogcatchers is the product of a mid-life crisis.
"No! Leave me be! Please, please! Leave me be!"
Banning books in public libraries is only the tip of the iceberg.
Paleocon Diary (#206).
A conversation with Charlie Rose.
Five poems from a new collection for sale here.
Writing and recording poems every week for a newborn daughter.
Dad was a humble giant, at least to his five sons.
I’m an old cowhand.
As a teenager, I was a walking zit.
The brilliant Absolut Vodka advertising hustle of the late-1980s.
I don’t scream for ice cream.
American social polarization is exaggerated.