My editor always sleeps late. If I rise early enough I can tell myself the truth a few hours alone in the dark before he stirs. 14:XII:18
I have a new routine most Sunday mornings. I awake in the dark, spend an hour as still as a church mouse, then head off to a coffee shop closer than my usual place, but one I’ve come to fancy lately. Their coffee is better, to be sure. The place has a decidedly Euro … [read more]
Perhaps it’s the full moon. Or the leaves turning from green to gold to brown, falling at my feet. Or Soten returning home to die or reading about Natalie nearly dying. My dreams have darkened and become most vivid and visceral. But I dreamed this: They seem to bomb us in the very early hours … [read more]
He just doesn’t get it, and then he wants me to fix it. He thinks this shit just happens to him. HE causes it! I’m sick of it. I’m outta here. Who do you mean? My Dad, man. He does the same thing over and over again, repeats the same dumbass mistakes, gets himself into … [read more]
This is from 2014. The grainy photo is from 1973 or so, courtesy Rich Compton.
In a memoir, Anthony Bourdain shared with us that he recalls precisely the moment he decided to become a chef. While working in the kitchen of a middle-of-the-road seafood joint in Provincetown, Massachusetts, serving a large wedding party of which the bride was good friends with Tony’s chef-boss, he and his scullery mates peered out … [read more]