I mean Michael Jackson was a pedophile, but we enjoyed his art, his unique, god-given talents, so we looked the other way. We suffered for his art. Right?

…they’re allowed to walk around shirtless with Buddha Bellies or Spare Tires or whatever cute name the Paparazzi gives celebrities who get fat, but when I do it in my house, I’m told to cover up…

The face was that of a sad man who had endured pain but had happily survived it.  It had made him at once tough and humble.  Blurry, yes.  Pockmarked, true.  But sturdy and solid with a smirk that bordered on a sneer that seemed to say “you never got me!”

I need to tell her everything that’s happened to me!  I need to tell her my history, everywhere I’ve been, all the things I’ve done, how I ended up here.  I need to tell her about the time I first got my heart broken and the time I was robbed and all the times I quit before I got fired.

I have seen the greatest neighborhoods of my generation taken over by babies of war heroes who grew up with silver spoons up their noses…

The movie I’m going to see with my wife and half-grown punk kids is the third installment of a cartoon franchise.  They’re embarrassed by me?  My mom took me to see The Godfather in Westwood Village 4th of July weekend.  I was nine!  Kids today!

And so here we stand, face to face at the end of our long day, staring into each other’s red, drooping eyes, the sore bare soles of our feet cooling on the bathroom tile…

Besides sex and drugs, using language is the only real benefit of adulthood.

Old Flicker, New Flame It’s a cold grey morning. A workday. A school day. Burning diesel from the […]

I’m standing behind Billy Zoom on line at the Starbucks. Yeah, I admit it: I go to the Starbucks. I’m not too cool for the Starbucks. Does that make me a sellout? Billy Zoom goes here! And he’s a rock star!