Novel looks at the Rust Belt, composed by an American doctor
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That’s How We Roll on an International Border!
Yes, I’ve waxed poetic about this international border before. But were you actually listening? Once more, I’ll remind you of
The Only Ruins I Actually Care About
I could book a flight, renew the passport, and buy a travel authorization if I wanted to see ruins. Or,
Upstate NY, You’re Wrong—It Ain’t the Weather
Mythology and reality have a way of becoming synonymous, and, no, I’m not talking about the Bible. I’m talking, as
Who the Heck Is Clyfford Still?!
It ain’t easy being important, as Clyfford Still taught me the other day. On that particular afternoon, I found myself
Where Am I?!
Where am I? I asked myself. Thanks to GPS—and a still-functioning brain—I knew the answer in a spatial sense. The
Sorry, but I Think You’re a Cityist
What the heck is a cityist? I’ll get there. First, we have to start with some -isms. Leading the way
Sorry, I Accidentally Wrote Another Book
Sh*t happens. In my case, it’s another book. The first apology, of course, goes to mom. J.D. Salinger, in The
Rust Belt Man’s Son Goes to London
Rust Belt Man’s son is embarrassed. His dad—well let’s just say he’s not the most refined guy around. And Rust
Rust Belt Man Goes to Paris
Rust Belt Man goes to Paris, mutters Rust Belt Man to himself. It’s part pep talk, part disbelief. He never
The Quirkiest Man in Upstate New York
Quirkiest, in the minds of some, has a cozy relationship with weirdest. But I’ll let you decide. After all, who
That’s How We Roll on an International Border!
Yes, I’ve waxed poetic about this international border before. But were you actually listening? Once more, I’ll remind you of
The Only Ruins I Actually Care About
I could book a flight, renew the passport, and buy a travel authorization if I wanted to see ruins. Or,
Upstate NY, You’re Wrong—It Ain’t the Weather
Mythology and reality have a way of becoming synonymous, and, no, I’m not talking about the Bible. I’m talking, as
Who the Heck Is Clyfford Still?!
It ain’t easy being important, as Clyfford Still taught me the other day. On that particular afternoon, I found myself
Where Am I?!
Where am I? I asked myself. Thanks to GPS—and a still-functioning brain—I knew the answer in a spatial sense. The
Sorry, but I Think You’re a Cityist
What the heck is a cityist? I’ll get there. First, we have to start with some -isms. Leading the way
Sorry, I Accidentally Wrote Another Book
Sh*t happens. In my case, it’s another book. The first apology, of course, goes to mom. J.D. Salinger, in The
Rust Belt Man’s Son Goes to London
Rust Belt Man’s son is embarrassed. His dad—well let’s just say he’s not the most refined guy around. And Rust
Rust Belt Man Goes to Paris
Rust Belt Man goes to Paris, mutters Rust Belt Man to himself. It’s part pep talk, part disbelief. He never
The Quirkiest Man in Upstate New York
Quirkiest, in the minds of some, has a cozy relationship with weirdest. But I’ll let you decide. After all, who