The off-kilter ramblings, and minor kerfuffles of a journalist in New York City.

Full disclosure. I tell stories. Lots of them. It's what I love to do, and it's what I get paid to do. The things I write here are 100% my own, not a reflection of my employer.

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Choose Your Own Adventure books were far-and-away some of my most cherished “fluff” reads as a kid—though it was often a toss up between these and a good Nancy Drew.  Now-a-days, I think, we simply choose our own adventure online. That can certainly opens some interesting doors… theatlantic: Choosing Our Own Adventures, Then and Now If you were a kid during the ’80s and read any books at all, you probably read at least one Choose Your Own Adventure, probably by either R.A. Montgomery or Edward Packard. And if you read one, you read more than one. They were addictive, candy for our brains, but also, they empowered us in a way that normal books did not. At key plot points, the reader got to make decisions that actually changed the course of the story. For example: “If you make a hasty retreat to your car, [upon being attacked by a bunch of monkeys] turn to page 29.” Alternatively, “If you decide that the chimpanzees are not as dangerous as they look and rush to give aid to the man, turn to page 3.” Many of us simply could not choose, or chose both, and so we read them twice, or thrice, or we simply read all of the endings, or we read the whole book with our fingers placed at various points so we could backtrack and try again if things didn’t go as hoped. For a lot of us, growing up as we did in our early-computer existences (remember Atari?), this was our first dose of “interactivity.” That doesn’t mean that the era of the Choose Your Own Adventure has ended, even if it is some 30 years (egad) after the original series began. Read more at The Atlantic Wire.

Choose Your Own Adventure books were far-and-away some of my most cherished “fluff” reads as a kid—though it was often a toss up between these and a good Nancy Drew. 

Now-a-days, I think, we simply choose our own adventure online. That can certainly opens some interesting doors…

theatlantic:

Choosing Our Own Adventures, Then and Now

If you were a kid during the ’80s and read any books at all, you probably read at least one Choose Your Own Adventure, probably by either R.A. Montgomery or Edward Packard. And if you read one, you read more than one. They were addictive, candy for our brains, but also, they empowered us in a way that normal books did not. At key plot points, the reader got to make decisions that actually changed the course of the story. For example: “If you make a hasty retreat to your car, [upon being attacked by a bunch of monkeys] turn to page 29.” Alternatively, “If you decide that the chimpanzees are not as dangerous as they look and rush to give aid to the man, turn to page 3.” Many of us simply could not choose, or chose both, and so we read them twice, or thrice, or we simply read all of the endings, or we read the whole book with our fingers placed at various points so we could backtrack and try again if things didn’t go as hoped. For a lot of us, growing up as we did in our early-computer existences (remember Atari?), this was our first dose of “interactivity.”

That doesn’t mean that the era of the Choose Your Own Adventure has ended, even if it is some 30 years (egad) after the original series began.

Read more at The Atlantic Wire.

apoetreflects: “It took me years to understand that words are often as important as experience, because words make experience last” —Willie Morris

apoetreflects:

“It took me years to understand that words are often as important as experience, because words make experience last”

—Willie Morris

(via npr)

On (returning to) running

Years ago I wrote a poem that was published in one of those silly Who’s Who books of nameless high school teenagers. I composed it in my head as I wound my way through the rainy backroads of my sleepy Connecticut town.  

Years later as I work in that familiar pavement-pounding rhthym,  in a new town living a different life,  the pattern of old habits return—…pound, pound, breath in….pound, pound breath out.

And suddenly words—the words that I thought I’d lost over the last few months—returned in a welcome rush.

****************

I feel it there. 

Wedged between my heart and my stomach. 

A hard place. Dark and cold.

A coiled snake lying in wait.

The day’s trials, the night’s monsters, waiting to lash out. 

Watching.

But tonight I strike first.

The grey windy ribbon stretches before me and my legs find their familiar pattern.

With every breath the snake uncoils, watching warily, each scaly inch relaxing in time to pounding feet, slamming heart, deepest breath. 

And with every turn, I know. 

He’ll be there tomorrow, to guard his cavern of dark cold places, 

and remind me why I run. 

What happens when there’s nothing to eat in the house and you are flying solo… Fritatta (Taken with instagram)

What happens when there’s nothing to eat in the house and you are flying solo… Fritatta (Taken with instagram)

All the roads in the world lead to the heart of the warriors of light.
They plunge unhesitatingly into the river of passions always flowing through their lives.

The warriors knows that they are free to choose their desires, and they make these decisions with courage, detachment and – sometimes – with just a touch of madness.

They embrace their passions and enjoy them intensely.

 

(Source: paulocoelhoblog.com)

The Barn

The Barn

A Saturday drive?

A Saturday drive?

On Remembering

This morning I heard a story on NPR of a woman who lost her husband in the 9/11 attacks. And once again it stirred memories.

The woman’s husband was on the 105th floor. He called her to say that he wasn’t going to be able to get out. Smoke was filling the building and she asked him if it hurt to breathe. He paused for a minute and said no. She said he loved her enough to lie. He stayed with her on the phone until the buildings fell and the line was cut. He just kept whispering he loved her over and over until the building fell. She died herself 2 years later in a plane crash.

Even after nearly 10 years I still think about that day. Even after living and working in this business I think about the people who lost their lives and loved ones that day.

I had just graduated 5 months before. Just moved back to New York from LA.

Just started my career as a journalist.

I remember being late to work and hopping in a cab cross town. I remember passing through Times Square and seeing smoke billowing from the building on the giant screen. People stood stock still watching as the building burned. Goosebumps crept across my body-something wasn’t right.

When I got to work the entire network was in a panic. I rode to the 10th floor glued, like the rest of my coworkers, to the tinny elevator television as the footage replayed over and over.

Our offices faced south along the West Side Highway. We had a clear view of the buildings. The most terrifying thing was to look at the television and see the buildings burn and look out the window and see it in real life.

The rest, as they say, is now history.

We all know what happened on that day.

We all have our own stories.

Now, nearly 10 years later, with the death of Osama bin Laden, those memories may finally be put to rest

News breaks, Fake Twitter accounts take off

Last night as I tweeted with the rest of the world about all the Osama Bin Laden going’s on—I noticed two Twitter accounts come online and had to laugh. 

It never takes long, after news breaks, to find some comedian trying to capitalize on the event.

I’m sure there will be more….

[Flash 10 is required to watch video]

The first beautiful afternoon in the Village. A couple of boys outside of Leffot’s play a little street catch.

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