How do I know?

C’mon now—Google Analytics and Instagram Insights don’t lie.

But perhaps you’ll listen to LoveEXPLORING, the travel-lifestyle publication owned by a UK-based digital publisher and frequently syndicated on MSN Travel.

In their words:

Cities are often celebrated for their energy and culture, but many are just as visually striking as the world’s most scenic villages and landscapes. With iconic skylines, historic landmarks, and impressive architecture set against dramatic backdrops, these urban destinations offer a different kind of beauty.

[Come] discover the most beautiful cities on Earth…

Their list—68 cities long—represents every continent (minus Antarctica) and does not discriminate by population.

There are the usual suspects—you know, like Rio de Janeiro, Brazil; Sydney, Australia; Prague, Czechia; Paris, France; and Rome, Italy.

And there are several dark horses, like Muscat, Oman; Dubrovnik, Croatia; Khiva, Uzbekistan; Nuuk, Greenland; and Dakar, Senegal.

American burgs, of course, make an appearance among the world’s most beautiful cities—nine of them to be exact.

You’ve heard of New York City, that place with the iconic skyline, Central Park, and so on.

And you’ve heard of San Francisco, home to the Bay, Golden Gate Bridge, and whacked out streets.

New Orleans, with its French Quarter, needs no introduction.

Then there’s Charleston, South Carolina, the town with history, Southern charm, and the Atlantic Ocean.

Speaking of that ocean, there’s also Portland, Maine, whose maritime past is not really past.

If you’re a true history buff, you’ve been to St. Augustine, Florida, the oldest continually inhabited European settlement in the contiguous United States.

If you’ve driven along the California coast, you’ve undoubtedly been to the striking Santa Barbara, where no picture can do justice.

And if you’ve ever done an Alaskan cruise, you’ve stepped foot in Ketchikan, where there’s no shortage of scenery and Indigenous culture.

But let me ask you this question.

Have you ever been to Cleveland?*

—

*According to LoveEXPLORING, the home of rock ’n’ roll is more quaint ’n’ charming, really. Cleveland makes the most of its gorgeous spot on Lake Erie with a picturesque waterfront area, home to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

The rest of the city is pretty too, with well-maintained historic buildings including the impressive Arcade—an ornate, glass-roofed 1890s shopping center in downtown.

The post This Is One of the World’s Most Beautiful Cities?! appeared first on ComposeMD.

I was supposed to be working—or doing the dishes. For that matter, anything else would have sufficed.

But as a writer, even of the uncompensated variety, daydreaming is a prerequisite for rolling the pen on paper.

And on this particular day, the thoughts took on a life of their own.

December 2, 1859. Charles Town, West Virginia. The place was still part of Virginia, whose western cousin didn’t exist yet. That’s when the abolitionist John Brown was hanged for raiding a federal armory in Harpers Ferry. So much for the slave rebellion he was trying to incite.

Wait, whatever happened to Angie Everhart? Remember her—the redhead model who was in that Schwarzenegger movie Last Action Hero (and a ton of other stuff)?

I briefly looked at the blank computer screen and noticed the song playing in the background.

Chrissie Hynde did have a fantastic voice.

That show Providence was pretty good. I wonder what Melina Kanakaredes is up to these days.

I looked back at the still-blank screen.

How cool would it be to win a Pulitzer Prize? Rita Dove won the Pulitzer for Poetry. I think she was the United States Poet Laureate or something.

She must have been like the LeBron James of poetry.

Man, those NBA Finals between LeBron and Steph Curry were so good.

I stared at the computer and noted the music again.

The Black Keys weren’t very good live. I still like them though.

That was nuts in second grade when we all huddled around the TV in the classroom to watch the launch of the Space Shuttle Challenger. And then they just ushered us out of the room without saying a word. Poor Judith Resnik.

James Harrison was undrafted?! He was such a dominant linebacker for the Steelers.

My wife called and asked what I was doing.

“Uh, making money online,” I blurted out, hoping she wouldn’t check the bank account any time soon.

I sat back and wondered.

Had I just had the daydream from hell?

Or was it from Akron, Ohio?*

—

*Everyone mentioned was born in and/or spent spent significant time in Akron.

The post My Daydream From Hell appeared first on ComposeMD.

First came the 2003 novel courtesy Lauren Weisberger, inspired by her stint working as a personal assistant to Anna Wintour, the editor of Vogue.

Next came the 2006 film and its all-star cast: Meryl Streep (Miranda Priestly), Anne Hathaway (Andy Sachs), Emily Blunt (Emily Charlton), and Stanley Tucci (Nigel Kipling).

And then, in 2026, appeared the sequel, sporting the same quartet and dominating the box office in the same way.

But what you don’t know is the impact this fiction has had on yours truly.

The story began in March 2020, just as most of the world was dealing with a viral pandemic.

I, on the other hand, was grappling with the decision of a lifetime—should I accept the role as personal assistant to the editor of ComposeMD?

His reputation preceded him, and I don’t mean that in a flattering way. But like Andy Sachs, I viewed the role as a stepping stone to something greater—like, say, a writer for ComposeMD.

Several months and one COVID vaccine later, I took the job.

And that’s when the demands began.

They started with the lunch requests.

Two bean burritos from Taco Bell—and it had to be the one on Jefferson Road in Henrietta.

That, of course, was just the appetizer. From there, I had to drive to Naan-Tastic to secure the all-important samosa chaat.

And then came the miracle—getting it to him still crunchy. I’ll never forget the time the outside of one samosa had lost its crisp. It was back to Jefferson Road for another order, this time with a side of waffle fries from Chick-fil-A just to spite me.

But the food, as you might imagine, paled in comparison to the fashion.

They say The Devil Wears Prada, but I’m pretty sure he wears Old Navy.

It was one thing to have to dress like the man—hoodies, sweatpants, and hideous T-shirts.

But to have to dress the man—that’s when I knew my days were limited.

The sweatshirts, needless to say, always had to be XXL. The pants—I never knew if they should go below the gut, above the gut, or on the gut.

And he always insisted on that dreadful yellow T-shirt, the one with E=MC².

Anyway, along the way, I was asked to accomplish the impossible, like the time he asked for an advance copy of some Rust Belt Employment PDF to read to his kids at bedtime. Or the time he had me cancel an entire school band concert because he wanted to go to happy hour at the Distillery instead.

My thanks for those wins was a trip to Fashion Week in Batavia—he threatened to blacklist me from Batavia Downs if I didn’t attend.

Finally, one morning after months of abuse, when I saw his incoming call, I tossed my phone into the Erie Canal.

When I landed my next gig, my new boss told me that the editor of ComposeMD had said I was the biggest disappointment he ever had—and that my new boss would be an idiot not to order the samosa chaat.

The post The Devil Wears Prada—and Old Navy appeared first on ComposeMD.

After all, it was the New York newspaper that incited me to take action.

On May 22, 2026, in between doing nothing, I discovered that the Journal had published a piece called “Dad Books Are a Dying Breed”.

The gist—sales of so-called “serious nonfiction” books, particularly the print versions, are down and out.

To blame is the smorgasbord factor, i.e. the mix of podcasts, Substack newsletters, Netflix documentaries, and so on that sates the desire of men to know boring stuff.

In the mix, of course, is a societal shift away from plain text as a means of consuming information.

And that gets me to the Great Lakes reading list.

What should a text-obsessed middle-aged man confronted with an uncomfortable reality about the future of text do?

Simple—push more text.

If you think that makes me fuddy-duddy, just wait for the books I recommend.

The Death and Life of the Great Lakes by Dan Egan

Bro—as in Egan—can write. In fact, the former reporter for the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel can write so well that he’s been a finalist for a Pulitzer Prize on multiple occasions.

If you only read one book on the Great Lakes, this should be the pick. Meticulously researched and fantastically readable, the blend of science, history, and storytelling amounts to a biography of the lakes, with special attention to how human actions like canal building, shipping, and farming have paved the way for invasive species and toxic algal blooms, thereby threatening one of the world’s most important natural resources.

In the final notes, Egan writes: This book is the sum of more than a decade of reporting…

It shows.

The Living Great Lakes: Searching for the Heart of the Inland Seas by Jerry Dennis

Dennis has made a name for himself as a nature writer, and this is perhaps his magnum opus.

Despite already being a walking encyclopedia regarding the lakes, the Michigan native set out to find an overarching narrative that could tie his knowledge together.

Enter a six-week journey on the Malabar, a schooner that in the spring of 2000 would take Dennis through his beloved inland seas.

The result is a passionate memoir, one peppered with enough historical, scientific, and nautical nuggets to make you an expert of the lacustrine variety.

The Gales of November: The Untold Story of the Edmund Fitzgerald by John U. Bacon

Bacon, another Michigan native, has carved out a career as a sports writer. But in this masterpiece, he stepped out of his comfort zone to take a deep dive into one of the most haunting shipwrecks in American history.

The 1975 sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald on Lake Superior has inspired safety regulations, an iconic song, and a world-class beer, but perhaps its greatest legacy is having spawned this chronicle of human tragedy.

Along the way, Bacon shines a light on the iron ore mining, Great Lakes shipping, and steel production that created some of the most vibrant cities the country has known.

Note: YouTube videos and Instagram Reels are cheaper and less time-consuming.

The post Your Mandatory Great Lakes Reading List appeared first on ComposeMD.

And by special, I mean weird.

Hear me out, even though I’m sure you already agree.

There’s this city on a river, across which lies another country.

Census data tells the burg’s story, if you’re willing to listen.

In 1820, there were four figures—1,422 to be exact.

A century later, there were six—993,678.

And thirty years after that, in 1950, there were seven—1,849,568. Only four American cities were more peopled.

That’s when, in the parlance of the medical profession, began the taper.

Every ten years, the dose was decreased by varying proportions.

• 9.7% to start
• Then another 9.5%
• Then a generous 20.4%
• Next a drop of 14.6%
• And finally, a more gentle 7.5%

It was the year 2000, and the figures were back down to six—951,270.

Some yearned for a maintenance dose, a stop-the-bleeding moment if you will.

But the taper continued.

• 25%
• 10.5%

That landed the river city in a year better known for a viral pandemic—by then, the blight was old news, fodder for comedians, bloggers, and bankruptcy lawyers.

The number, at that point, was down to 639,111.

Mercifully, another decade would have to pass to officially know the next dose reduction.

But the hints were screaming—the US Census Bureau calls them population estimates.

2021: 635,046

2022: 634,219

2023: 637,452

Eyebrows were raised.

2024: 644,035

Heads were turned.

2025: 649, 095

Tears were shed.

The city on the river, the one gazing upon another nation, is celebrating Easter.

Because just like Jesus, Detroit is rising once again.

The post This Census Data Will Make You Cry appeared first on ComposeMD.

Was it 1718?

I mean the year you were founded by the French guy with the long name.

Is Mardi Gras even a big deal in France?

And didn’t the US version start in Mobile, Alabama?

Anyway, the French lost the Seven Years’ War to the Brits and handed New Orleans over to…the Spanish?

But then how did the French get it back? Because weren’t they the ones who sold you to Thomas Jefferson and the Americans?

And after the Seven Years’ War, more French speakers came down from the north? Why did you call those Acadians Cajuns by the way?

That reminds me—wasn’t the French Quarter kind of built by the Spanish?

Then you had the West Africans—enslaved and free.

Native Americans were in the mix, of course.

And no doubt you attracted some Caribbeans—just look at the map.

No wonder no one can explain to me what jazz means. Or, for that matter, what Creole means.

The Mississippi River and the Gulf of Mexico (America?) meant a port.

That meant more immigrants—I’m talking about the regular kinds, like Irish, Italians, and Germans.

You were thriving.

But then you shrank. Your metro is smaller than the ones in Omaha and Tulsa—and Rochester (NY)!

Yet you still have the NFL and NBA?

And Super Bowls?!

The tourists keep flowing.

Is it the seediness?

Or the white powder? (And I don’t mean the kind on the beignets.)

In any case, let me get this straight, New Orleans.

You’re that city where the Brits never were—well, aside from that time in the War of 1812 when they tried to invade. (Andrew Jackson had something to say about that, even though the war was already over, I think.) And there was the one Brit I met there the other day—tatted up, sporting a New York Yankees jersey, and asking me if I had any white powder. (He wasn’t hungry.)

You’re diverse as hell.

But everyone speaks English (now).

And you’re racist as hell, I’ve been told. Because that’s not the story my eyes conveyed.

You’re over the top.

And under the sea.

You’re alive.

And dying?

You’re a bounty of riches.

And a magnet for the poor—just look at the streets. (And the po’ boys.)

You’re the place with the artists and writers and dreamers.

Are they still dreaming—or just drinking?

Why is the National WWII Museum in New Orleans?

What’s chicory again?

Did you really invent the Sazerac?

Why the streetcars?

I will say you have charm.

And oil refineries.

And, unless I’m mistaken, prostitutes.

In other words, you have it all, New Orleans.

Or do you?

The post New Orleans Has Me Dazed and Confused appeared first on ComposeMD.

But let me tell you something—aside from my hair, clothes, and mindset, I live on the cutting edge of pop culture.

So when the former editor of Plethora of Pop—Buddy Gott—asked for submissions to his new publication, I viewed it as an opportunity to let my true colors shine.

The publication is called PubBeat, and the challenge was simple: Pick a year that contained a lot of music you love and then write a piece in which you share multiple songs from that year.

Yes, 1971 did give us “Stairway to Heaven” and “What’s Going On.” The year did also capture the sounds of the decade of my birth. But who do you think I am—some sort of Rust Belt nostalgia guy?

Then there’s 1991, which gave us “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and “Losing My Religion.” But the years of teenage angst are long gone. Do I look like the type of dude who would give up his day job to blog or something?

No, the only year that fits, the one that captures the new joyful me, is 2014.

By that year, I was fully entrenched in the culture of suburbia, talking playsets, weed killers, and grill covers. I was…

“Happy” by Pharrell Williams”

Granted, the decision to grow roots in Upstate New York had raised a few eyebrows, particularly among the coastal elites I had left behind. But my wife and I knew that in stumbling upon Rochester, we had found a…

“Dark Horse” by Katy Perry featuring Juicy J

Life was a little slower and a little simpler. It seemed like we were surrounded by people who had collectively decided no more counting dollars, we’ll be…

“Counting Stars” by OneRepublic

Of course, the fact that the only thing outsiders knew about Rochester was lake-effect snow did get irritating at times. Eventually, however, I learned to…

“Shake It Off” by Taylor Swift

Because deep down, I had an inkling the snide comments were coming from the…

“Jealous” by Nick Jonas

And that’s why 2014 is my favorite year in music.

The post My Favorite Year in Music appeared first on ComposeMD.

Was Dr. Seuss predicting my life?

Thirty-six years after the master’s last book was published, that is the only possible explanation for what I’ve seen—and what’s left to be seen.

You’re off to Great Places!

The Rust Belt—need I say more?

It’s opener there in the wide open air.

Farm country, as you may or may not know, is walking distance.

You’ll be on your way up!

You’ll be seeing great sights!

The reference, of course, is to Cobbs Hill Park in Rochester (NY), 633 feet above sea level and pictured here.

…Bang-ups

and Hang-ups

can happen to you.

Undoubtedly, Dr. Seuss knew I would have to make it through dark times, otherwise known as stints in Boston and New York City.

You’ll find the bright places

where Boom Bands are playing.

Yes, I have been to many a middle-school band concert.

I’m afraid that some times

you’ll play lonely games too.

Games you can’t win

’cause you’ll play against you.

One word: Blogging.

But on you will go

though the weather be foul.

How the legend knew I would live in the Snow Belt I’ll never know.

And will you succeed?

Yes! You will, indeed!

(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

In other words, there’s only a 1 and ¼ percent chance of being like me!

So…get on your way!

The itinerary, I’ll have you know, includes the following:

Akron, Ohio

Binghamton, New York

Charleston, West Virginia

Dayton, Ohio

Erie, Pennsylvania

Evansville, Indiana

Flint, Michigan

Gary, Indiana

Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania

Youngstown, Ohio

OH! THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!

The post Oh, the Places You’ll Go! appeared first on ComposeMD.

Specifically, I owe an incompetence with gadgets for the life lessons thrust upon me that day.

Were they lessons—or just languages?

It all started back in January 2026 when the wife insisted that my perfectly functional iPhone 8 needed to go.

The result was a sparkling iPhone 17 Pro.

Well, that, and the realization that nothing worked anymore.

I had to deal with the whole Wi-Fi thing, fiddle with some authenticator app, and handle a bunch of other stuff that used to be on autopilot.

So when it came to linking the new phone to my wife’s car, I opted out—no Bluetooth, no Apple CarPlay, no nothing.

The only problem was that on April 22, 2026, the wife’s car was the one I took to Erie. That meant that as I drove from Rochester, New York, to northwest Pennsylvania along the southern rim of two Great Lakes, I went back in time.

The 162-mile trip, by choice, took place without GPS. It was just me, the highway signs, and a few educated guesses.

Then there was the radio.

I had to remind myself about something called FM.

And as I kept driving, I even started to dabble in a touch of AM.

That’s when weird things started to happen.

By random chance, I landed on 860 AM.

BON SOIR, MADELEINE. QUELLE EST VOTRE EXPÉRIENCE?

Those damn Canadians and their weird languages, I thought.

I drove on and flipped over to 100.7 FM.

CHAKKE MEIN CHAKKA CHAKKE PE GAADI.

Jesus. These Indians are everywhere—you can’t get away from them.

The only way out of the conundrum was to keep moving forward. The further I got from Canada—and the closer I got to Erie—the less I would have to deal with all the cultural nonsense.

I knew I could count on Erie—where the Snow Belt meets the Rust Belt meets Appalachia—for some damn English.

And English it was as I approached the small city, noting beat-up properties, severe poverty, lots of cigarettes, and some sort of state park on Lake Erie.

The visit, as you must know by now, was inspired by a desire to continue growing my book series on Great Lakes cities, the one in which I take objectively depressed places and make them seem much better than they are.

But as I was on my own that day, I could fully embrace the fraudulent nature of the activity. As such, when I felt a sudden urge to escape Erie for civilization, I didn’t resist. (You know you’re in trouble when that means Buffalo.)

Such began the reverse trip, again without GPS, and again with a mix of AM and FM.

I managed to stay away from the annoying foreign languages for a while, keeping everything I learned in the only language that anyone actually understands.

But as I got closer to home, I let my guard down and stopped paying attention.

Before I knew what I had done, I was greeted with 97.5 FM.

ROCHESTER! SÚBELE! SÚBELE! 

Freaking Spanish, I thought.

Estos puertorriqueños deben regresar a su pais. N’est-ce pas? Haan bilkul.

The post Everything I Learned on the Way to Erie, PA appeared first on ComposeMD.