The Decapitator

I never knew my grandpa on my dad’s side very well. He passed away when I was eighteen from a disease that rendered him quiet and withdrawn towards the end of his life. I remember him as a kind observer, a Salem cigarette hanging out of his mouth, as he sat outside on an old lawn chair and watched the kids play in the yard. I try to imagine him before he was sick – a navigator flying bombing raids over Germany in WWII, several over Hamburg, the town where my grandmother’s family lived at the time. War is messed up that way. Continue reading

Embracing Your Inner Tool

Years ago I took acting classes at a school in Midtown. The classes were exciting, as I had never really acted outside of doing monologues in my living room to movies like Sideways and Wedding Crashers. It quickly became evident that acting is not as easy as I thought. My teacher always joked about failing at an audition but then saying, “You should have seen me in my living room!” Getting up in front of anyone and acting out a scene is very uncomfortable at first. Continue reading

Topless

Kristen and I spent part of our honeymoon in Barcelona. We stayed at the Pulitzer, a modern hotel with a roof deck that attracted a very Brooklyn-esque crowd. If you substitute the Spanish for English, you might think you were on a Juventino-owned patio. We walked down La Rambla, a street resembling what the love child of 34th Street and 7th Avenue and Times Square would look like. The place was crawling with street vendors either selling these strange Daffy Duck whistles or rubber band launched neon glowing helicopter toys, an item Kristen desperately wanted to buy every time we passed. I never wanted to stop on the Rambla because I feared getting pickpocketed or propositioned. I didn’t realize that after a decade in New York City, I instinctually cover my pockets with my hands anytime I walk near a crowd of people or a shady looking person. Continue reading

Sh**ty-Cozy

Kristen and I moved into a new apartment last month. After we both lived in boxes for most of our New York lives, we’ve finally found a place that doesn’t feel like we’re living in a small walk-in closet. We love our new place, but I’ve deemed it, “shitty-cozy,” since it’s rather shitty but the oldness of it has a certain charm, like a ride through The Pirates of the Caribbean at Disney World; you kind of want to live in the ride, but then again, you kind of don’t. Continue reading