Month: September 2016

The Authenticity Experiment, the death and ageing edition. Here is what the woman who is not my girlfriend said to me a few nights ago. She said, “I think in the past ten years,” (well, okay, she said five years, but it is really ten, she was just being gracious), “you’ve been under a lot of pressure and you make it look easy, like things happen sequentially and you simply manage them, when we all know there is a good deal more chaos than that, than in how you are making it look.” That’s a paraphrase, but it’s close to…

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The Authenticity Experiment, the guitar edition. She said it off-handedly.  She didn’t mean it that way, but that’s how it hit my tender heart with its secret shame when I told my friend that I’d spent my teenage years in my room playing my guitar to every album popular during high school: Fleetwood Mac, Jackson Browne, Phoebe Snow, Janis Ian.  “Why would you do that?  Why wouldn’t you just write your own music?” she said.  Flat, the nasal vowels of her native Michigan coming through. Because you’re a lonely kid, I said, surprised that I’d spoken the naked truth, no spin. Because…

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