The Cheap Seats

I cringed when I wrote the title of this blogpost. Most writers want their words to be read (me included), yet my Midwestern-ness gets in the way every time I think about promoting myself. But instead of figuratively wringing my hands or being falsely self-deprecating, I'm going to push through and set aside that deeply ingrained Nordic reserve of mine and emphatically state:                                     "I WROTE A BOOK AND I WANT YOU TO READ IT!" I quit The Cheap Seats back in the fall of 2014 and immediately starting writing a novel. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, not to mention a wildly unrealistic notion how long it would take, but I knew there was a story inside me I needed to write, and ultimately share. So I stuck with it.  Without fully realizing it, Addie Braver (the title I finally landed on) took over my life. The characters became real to me, as real as anyone I know. More often than not, they were the first people I

I'm not a big fan of war. With a few notable exceptions, I can't think of too many instances where one team of people killing another team of people ever made anything much better. Warriors, however, are a different story. I admire them—their motivations, their willingness to accept self-sacrifice, their sheer grit. Warriors, yes—the governments they fight for, not so much. Which brings me to our National Anthem. It used to belong to all of us. Sure, it's a weird old song composed in the midst of a forgotten war and paired to the tune of an old English drinking song, but it was ours. Not any more. The United States government has a stranglehold on it. Some context: The Star-Spangled Banner didn't officially become our national song until 1931, eclipsing other unofficial, yet equally popular anthems such as Hail Columbia, My Country 'Tis of Thee and America the Beautiful. Nonetheless, playing the SSB before sporting events was hit or miss for decades until

A tipping point has been reached, affecting most Americans everywhere. The outrage building for a generation, Against the crime of managed health care. Capitalism at its worst, A cynical buck to be made. Companies offering insurance, as long as they keep getting paid. Hospitals and Big Pharma complicit, To the ever-skyrocketing cost, That family after family must bear,  As lifetimes of savings are lost. What kind of country have we become, If we measure everything by Gain? Bowing down to the alter of money, While so many people are in Pain. An amoral one—if you ask me, Practically gleeful to build a Wall, Instead of, heaven forbid, Offering its citizens Medicare for All. And before you say its a handout, Or some government takeover of healing, Ask yourself , Am I tired of deductibles and co-pays, The endless bills with which I am dealing? True, there's a cost and it ain't cheap, but it pales compared to more o

Hello again, it's me. I'm pretty sure those are lyrics to some forgotten song, but the song escapes me at the moment. Then again, a lot of things escape me these days. No, I'm not losing my mind or my memories. I've simply spent most of the last four years chasing a few narrow interests while gladly bringing plenty of old garbage out to the curb. Since we last met high in The Cheap Seats  in the fall of '14, the Big 5-0 came and went (more smoothly than expected), my children are grown and gone (each conveniently and coincidentally anchored in Boston), I became a home-furnishing DIY addict, grew to appreciate the taste of a really good Old Fashioned and wrote a book. If you're thinking I have a lot of free time on my hands (or a drinking problem), I can confidently say "no" to both. I just got tired of waiting for life to be "just right" before trying new things, potential failure be damned. Trust me, I haven't surrounded