Of the Wolf
I stayed in Ireland for two weeks, a visitor, a tourist. Everywhere Sinead and I would go, we’d play a game Sinead invented called “Spot the American.”
Hands that Carry Their Own Maps of the World
On this day in end-times 1999, Jimmy Carter, the former president of the United States, that sweetheart, was on a flight I was working. It was a shuttle flight, D.C. to New York, maybe. No First Class, no fuss.
God Damn It Be Kind
“Like homing pigeons,” a man in a New York bar once told me about Pittsburghers. “You leave. You go back. You’re lucky. There aren’t many places like that.”
Kindness is Its Own Memory
On terrible pantyhose, bad sports writing, and the eternal kindness of the late great Franco Harris.
Figments of a Pittsburgh Imagination
Andy Warhol meets the Breatharians.
Except for the Cancer I’m Fine
"Is disease something we’re born with and prone to, or the result of a life lived in a place that can make anyone sick?”