The Ballad of John

Yesterday I learned, disappointingly, that not only did the invention of the flush toilet predate the existence of Thomas Crapper, but the use of the word “crap” to indicate evacuation did as well; I was left with an unavoidable void.  That this caused any distress whatsoever is probably a cause of bemusement or maybe even […]

Chances Are

It seems I’ve taken to writing about once a month.  That’s probably entirely too infrequently, but lately it’s all I can muster.  I seem to be suffering from some sort of spiritual ennui that my own manner of introversion exacerbates. More simply put, I feel overwhelmed, and more than a little disconnected. It is with […]

I’m Still Here

I still write.  I need to remind myself of that sometimes.  I write everyday.  Most of the time only in my head these days, but I am writing nonetheless. For those who have followed my curious career arc from the beginning of this blog, I’ve come a long way, both in physical and emotional distance. […]

Bookish and Broken

When I was six years old my family moved from North Plainfield, NJ — a suburb of NYC with all of the attendant suburban attributes — to Meyersville, NJ, a small town half-located in and surrounded by a The Great Swamp National Wildlife Refuge.  We moved into the house formerly owned by my Aunt Sharon, […]

And the Band Played On

It’s hot in the Maple Leaf. Stiflingly hot and I’m having a little trouble catching my breath. And the show hasn’t even started yet. The older black man in the straw hat next to me at the bar is producing a copious amount of smoke from a single cigarette — like a diesel locomotive. There […]