I spent the weekend in a fog of depression that started sometime after 9:30AM on Saturday and ended sometime Sunday afternoon as I walked through New England watching the turning of the season. The snow is melting, the sugar maples are beginning to bud, the sap leaking through the cracks to be collected in buckets and then boiled for hours and hours until it becomes sap. The Metaphor, says the inner-movie-narrator, is that from death comes something new. But the truth is winter isn't death and neither is drawing with Woolwich... even when it feels like it is.
This weekend, my father and I spent a lot of time talking about two things: soccer and the HBO series "The Wire." He was as excited as I was about the response to my recent article for The Fighting Cock and either because of that, or for lack of something better to do, spent a considerable time sitting with me in the den watching the weekend's action. At the end of the Tottenham-Palace game he even declared, "well I only nodded off twice!" (more...)
Last week I wrote a piece about the pain of being a Tottenham Supporter. It was published by The Fighting Cock, an amazing Podcast and Fanzine about all things Tottenham.
This past Christmas and New Years I traveled with my family and a large group of friends to a cabin in Upstate New York. We drank, we ate, we were merry, there was hiking, singing, laughing, games, and good fun all around. (more...)
Naomi and I spend an incredible amount of time talking about our baby's sleep schedule. When did he fall asleep? What time should he go down? HIs third nap wasn't great, I mean it was okay but not great. I'm tired. Are you tired? (more...)
In 6th grade I was in love with Sarah Goldberg. I loved her smile, her eyes, her big 80s hair, and her acid-washed jeans. But Sarah Goldberg and I were not meant to be. (more...)