Sturgill Simpon’s apocalyptic tune “Make Art Not Friends” is taking on a new meaning for me these days, in this Our Time of Corona. A…
Author: Grant Wentzel
I’ve had this one in the can for over two years now. I started it right after daylight savings time switched over, when the evenings…
“Tradition’s whatever you grew up with.” That was some truth passed on to me by a wise Mennonite lady who was doing the best she…
Like Tony, I spent some early years swinging on the bottom rungs of the restaurant business. I was a first-rate busboy, a hard-working dishwasher, but…
A few political spin-cycles back I got the the idea that I should stop looking at public policy through various ideological filters, but instead take…
If you feel like scaring yourself slightly shitless today, google the worst-case scenarios of an EMP attack. The Cold War was all about total–and mutual–annihilation.…
Standing on the back patio, half-step past the corroded frame of the departed screen door, my hands were drawn to the natural holds — the…
“I’m sorry to tell you this, honey, but this book is me at my worst.” “Oh, I know it is, dear. I know.” As a…
They say that astronauts become more of themselves the longer they’re in space. The capsule becomes an echo chamber, one’s quirks bouncing off the walls,…
I’m in no rush here, but before I kick it, I’d like to find a place to be buried, somewhere to rest my bones that…