The Beatles: Don't Stop Believin'
HARP Magazine, April 2008
It is 119 degrees in the teeming desert cesspool called Las Vegas, where the methed-out vampires troll the Strip, sin is the prevailing virtue, and somewhere Wayne Newton is singing Danka Schoen in a sequined pantsuit. If this isn’t Hell, then it’s certainly in the same zip code. I climb out of the air-conditioned rental car at the Mirage Hotel and the heat comes at me with the blunt force of a wrecking ball, the unrelenting desert sun burning my eyes like gamma rays from a distant holocaust. As I grab my luggage and make a beeline for the casino, the rubber soles of my Adidas actually melt to the asphalt, leaving a gummy residue with each belabored step. I am not a violent man, but if one more cheery fanny pack-wearing tourist tells me, “It’s a dry heat,” I will punch him in the neck.
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But Seriously... Will You Marry Me?
Marie Claire, February 2008
Whenever I imagined myself proposing marriage, it was always a grand romantic gesture, like something from a fairy tale or a Freddie Prinz Jr. movie. It had to be epic. And frankly, when the most exciting event in your life is Shark Week on the Discovery Channel, you know it’s time to shake things up. So after buying a diamond engagement ring and tucking it safely away, I started planning a storybook proposal that would make Cinderella blush.
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Hunter S. Thompson: The Other Side of Gonzo
HARP Magazine, July/August 2007
Anita Thompson, the pretty 35 year-old widow of Hunter Thompson,holds up a carton of orange juice and a bottle of vodka, and says with a warm smile, “How ‘bout a screwdriver?”
For the record, I do not usually booze with my interview
subjects, not while I’m playing serious journalist. But on this particular occasion, I feel morally obligated to have a drink or three. I am, after all, standing in the kitchen of the man who wrote Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, the man who was attacked by giant bats on a lonely desert road paved with mescaline and shattered visions of the American Dream.
“Sounds good,” I say. “Better make it a double.”
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Madness and Depravity at the Karaoke World Championships
HARP Magazine, May 2007
It’s just before midnight when a fleshy, egg-shaped man with a towering pompadour and white satin jumpsuit takes the stage and launches into the Presley classic Burning Love. His name is Jouni Viirtala, but I will come to know him as the Elvis of Finland. While this may sound like a Vegas-themed peyote trip of David Lynchian proportions, what I’m actually witnessing is a standout performance from the 2006 Karaoke World Championships.
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The Legend of a Man Called Hoot
HARP Magazine, February 2007
Hoot Borden, the world's most famous rock and roll bus driver, leans forward almost conspiratorially and says in a low throaty voice, “I didn’t like Britney Spears' husband one bit.” When I press him for a reason – and there are many reasons to dislike Kevin Federline – he replies candidly, “Because of the way he wore his hat. That crooked cap pissed me off.” And then, as if speaking directly to K-Fed, he growls, “You little son of a bitch. I’ll show you how to wear a damn hat.”
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The
Oldest
Living
Confederate
Groupie TellS ALL
SPIN magazine, February 2005
It's 10:30 a.m. on a Friday in Little Rock, Arkansas, and Connie Hamzy is sitting at the bar of the Sticky Fingerz Rock and Roll Chicken Shack, telling a story to a small audience of busboys and cocktail waitresses: "So I'm out on the tour bus, smokin' dope and blowing roadies," she says in a lazy Southern accent. "And who comes into the back lounge? Neil fucking Diamond."
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Redneck
Nation
NO COVER Magazine, March-April 2006
It’s July in Dublin, Georgia, but if you squint your eyes, it could easily be Mozambique or Katmandu or some other steamy, exotic locale. By late-morning, the air is thick, warm and damp as a newly soiled diaper. The sky swarms with hummingbird-sized mosquitoes and the trees buzz with the sound of locusts. Then, of course, there are the swamp leeches.
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Inside
the World
oF a Rock
Roadie
SPIN
magazine,
March 2oo4
I stepped up to the counter, and the middle-aged clerk greeted me with a hesitant, "Can I help you, sir." His tone was the kind generally reserved for placating the severely retarded or completely insane. I told him that I had a reservation, and he just looked at me, one eyebrow forming a skeptical arch. Then I uttered the five most surreal words ever to escape my lips.
"I'm with the Doobie Brothers," I said quietly. "I'm with the Doobie Brothers."
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Laughing
BuddHA
SPIN
magazine,
September
2004
I am somewhere between Vondelpark and Liedesplein when the drugs kick in. The combination of marijuana, hashish, and lack of sleep triggers an extreme psychotic reaction: unbridled paranoia. I nervously scan the crowded commuter car, searching the pale Dutch faces around me for any trace of misguided rage. Would these lutefisk-eaters come at me? I notice an old woman glaring at me, and for a brief second her cold dead eyes meet mine. Her gnarled lip curls upward, revealing a jagged set of razor fangs. She can smell my fear. They all can.
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Herpes
Nation
DETAILS magazine,
August 2005
There I was, with mom and grandpa, watching Joan of Arcadia do her God thing, when this woman pops up in a commercial and starts talking about her blistering vagina. You've seen the ad, where she coos over a montage of swing dancing and sea kayaking, about how Valtrex freed her to "live her life again." In the midst of her wince-inducing pitch, my 82 year-old grandfather piped up. "I got the herpes, from a mean Oriental broad," he said. "Son of a bitch hurt like Hell."
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Dive
Bars and
Why We
Love Them
MODERN
DRUNKARD
magazine, July
2006
Night falls on San Francisco’s bustling North Beach district, as tourists, flesh peddlers and hipsters troll the sidewalks beneath an ashen sky. I head south down a narrow meandering corridor, beyond the shimmering neon veneer of Broadway into the heart of Chinatown, past shuttered fish markets, junk shops and darkened alleyways. Two blocks down, tucked away from the arched rooftops and beneath a Chinese-style lantern, I arrive at Li Po’s, a quintessential dive bar. Inside, three old Asian men play mahjong in a red Naugahyde booth near the back of the room, eyes down-turned, as hand-rolled cigarettes dangle from cracking lips, quietly defiant in the face of a state-wide smoking ban. Yellowing wallpaper curls at the seams, and a dusty, tabletop Ms. Pacman game sits idle in a darkened corner, a hand-written “out of order” sign taped over its coin slot. Burned-out Christmas lights hang from the ceiling (it’s September), and a stream of easy listening classics pours from the jukebox, offering a healthy dose of Leo Sayer, Gordon Lightfoot, and Bread’s “Baby I’m-A Want You” in a seemingly endless loop.
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Darkness
on the
Edge of
Marin
The
News Marin,
April 15,2005
It must be something in the imported mineral water. For more than four decades, Marin County has spawned some of rock music's most influential acts, including Santana, the Grateful Dead and Journey. Sammy Hagar makes his home north of the Gate, along with members of the Doobie Brothers, Jefferson Airplane, and Metallica. It's an elite group, rife with brilliant songwriters, Rock and Roll Hall of Famers, and cultural icons. And today, Marin's great musical tradition continues with a dynamic local band called American Drag.
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Showdown
in Dodge
City
The
News Marin,
April 22,2005
Dodgeball, the grade school activity where teammates fling large rubber balls at the heads of their opponents, is experiencing an improbable global renaissance on par with breakdancing, ridiculously flared bellbottoms, and the career of Mickey Rourke. And this time around, it's not just for kids.
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A
Horse Rectum
Primer
The
Tacoma
Weekly
, February
2003
Each week, when it appears that Fear Factor has reached the apex of cruel and disgusting gimmickry, they circle the wagons and come back with something even more outrageous and nauseating. This is the actual cable guide synopsis of last week’s episode: “Contestants eat horse rectum.” Of course they do. I mean, why wouldn’t they? Our economy is in shambles. A messy war with Iraq appears inevitable. The North Koreans are building nuclear bombs. And contestants eat horse rectum. In a global context, it makes perfect sense.
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