Here is another South African memory from Mark Grolman: I was lucky. I lived in an architect designed house. No project home for me. In the small, gold mining town in South Africa where I grew up having an architect designed house was special. Besides the generous sized bedrooms, one of the things I remember … Continue reading Coal
It's one of those days at work where I'm absolutely paralyzed. Hogtied. Brainfreeze. I can't do anything. So what do I do? I go to Google Street View. I take a drive in my childhood neighborhood in Jackson, Mississippi. Take a look at the old house. There it is. There's the lawn I mowed a … Continue reading Manhattan Academy
I was miserable. Living with my cousin in a cheap-ass apartment complex. Just living there in that shitty dump, I felt like I had hit the underside of the bottom. Something about those places always just feels like you’re in hell. They’re so cheap. Feels like you’re inside a cardboard box. They all have the … Continue reading Cedarstone
My friend Mark Grolman shared this brutal memory. It resonates with me, among other reasons, because growing up in Jackson we lived with the existence of areas not too different from a shanty town. Except that we referred to them with name far less repeatable than "Village of Hope." --- I spent my childhood in … Continue reading Village of Hope
Here is a story Craig Dennis shared with me. He came to New York over the summer. We met at a bar under the Brooklyn Bridge, drank beer and ate calamari. Then we went up to Chelsea Piers and had more beer on the deck of a moored yacht on which his son had worked. … Continue reading Stormy
From a novel called LET IT BLEED A few years ago before Cathy dumped me, I was down in a swamp in Mississippi. I popped this squirrel out on a long branch, and it dropped like a wet rag into a clump of honeysuckle and briars so thick it was like a wall. I got … Continue reading The Voodoo Stick
