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He drops the shoe box of family photos on the concrete floor of the garage.   He feels the chill on the sole of his feet, even though the morning air hovers around 71.     He searches for the bucket of varnish he purchased yesterday and finds it alone by the garage door, next to the his and hers bikes and the beach chairs and beach umbrella that lean up against the unpainted wall.  A fine layer of dust covers the bikes and beach gear.  Nothing else occupies the garage, no tools, no boxes, no christmas ornaments, no lawn mower, nothing else save for a side table he brought into the garage from the living room, the one she intended on decorated with family photographs, a job which she left for him to do.   He knew she wanted him to do it, not by asking him, though that would have been much easier.  No, she did what she always did, left for him a little hint that she wanted him to do it by placing the shoe box with the photographs on the dining room table upon which both of them stacke

I first experienced the band, the National, while scanning a list of live concerts posted on National Public Radio’s All Songs Considered podcasts.  I discovered listed there a number of concerts performed by bands who were obtaining exposure through various websites and other media but who still remained obscure at least to me.  You can find find the website here: www.npr.org/series/live-in-concert/.  With roots in the mid-west, the band gelled in New York City, which agrees with their sound and message oozing from their songs.  The band begs comparisons with Joy Division, its melancholic sadness, played quietly and softly, the lyrics crooned by the baritone Matt Beringer, so subtle that the profound words might escape unnoticed if you fail to pay attention, the strange atmospheric music bass laden but also fringed with a distant guitar, calling from the distance.  These elements taken alone make the National a proficient band, capable of not just composing a single infectious tune

I conducted research on how to produce a compelling blog that attracts readers.  It did not occur to me that the answer I sought melded with the question I asked, that the advice I would receive regarding blogging would come from bloggers themselves.  Try doing the search yourself and you’ll discover that results will contain, except for a few exceptions, links to blogs.     I've read some of the blogs on blogs.  I harbored the belief that the blogs written by bloggers influential enough to obtain precious real estate on the first page of a Google results return must possess some expert knowledge on blogging.  However, in perusing the articles, I found the bloggers relied on information which to me seems self-evident and lacking any real insight. For example, some blogs advise writing about what you know.  This sounds like profound advice, the kind that once you hear it, you slap your forehead and exclaim, "Of course!"  However, this cliché lacks any substance or meanin

As a teenager just starting into the worlcouple of issues of X-Factor.  As I recall, the cover decorated with the figure of Iceman riding upon a wave of ice a spray of cold shooting from his fingertips excited me, particularly because I remembered even younger days waking up in the morning watching Spiderman and his Amazing Friends of which Iceman counted himself among.  The story of the issue appealed to me and reading it marked the first time when a comic sunk its claws into me and compelled me to buy issue after issue.  X-Factor became my comic and my team. TIn true heroic form,nfortunately, I found myself on the tail end of run because, right about that time, the old team of Cyclops, Jean Grey, Beast, Angel and Iceman abandoned the name in order to form a second X-men team.  Fortunately, the old team dropped the name like a dinner scrap to a team of lesser-known, often misunderstood mutant heroes, Havok, Polaris, Quicksilver, Madox the Multiple Man, and Strong Guy.   I loved the fe

The urge reemerges yet again. I desire to attempt the Herculean feat of developing a blog where the thoughts pestering my mind find fertile soil in which to germinate or at least lay dormant until I feed and water them. I am not Hercules. I lack his many attributes: incredible strength of not only body but of mind; persistence and fortitude, focus and determination. Even now, as I struggle with uncovering the essence of the thoughts I attempt to convey here, other distractions divert my attention like trying to play music on Spotify on my tablet, the same on which I am scribing this piece, ignoring the staccato bleating of laughter erupting teenagers sitting only a few tables away from me at the Barnes and Noble Starbuck's at which I regularly write. So why embark on such a journey, ill-fated, doomed from the start, a vessel, not seaworthy, piloted by a landlubber, contented to spend his days, not on the seas, but pouring over maps of those seas, collecting the tools necessary to