Here are a few of my non-fiction endeavors, various musings about life in the vain attempt of seeming profound and reflective. They range from sad to funny to quirky, but if nothing else, they're honest. Click on the image to read the piece.

"My Bipolar Ex-Love"

This essay is about a tumultuous relationship in my 20s with a woman who was manic depressive. Nearly a decade later, I searched her name, in a vain attempt to catch up and apologize. The first thing that popped up was her obituary.

"Saturday Afternoon at the Hamster Derby"

What better way to spend a Saturday afternoon than standing around Petco as your son's hamster competes in the annual Hamster Ball Derby? Answer: There is no greater thrill.

"My Battle with Man-Titties: One Man's Quest to Curb His Cup-Size"

We all have issues. In my early-30s, after packing on 20 lbs. in sympathetic pregnancy weight, I noticed the emergence of man-titties. This essay covers the battle between me and my man-titties that ensued. 

"It Feels Smart in My Heart"

Here's a feature I wrote about one of my favorite places in the world, my local watering hole and home away from home. Chelby's Pizza is a one of a kind establishment.

"The Misery of Fun"
"Fenway Park with My Father"

I'm not a curmudgeon...not really. But I cannot take "prescribed fun." In this essay, published in As It Ought To Be, I try to explain the paradox. This piece was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Spoiler: I didn't win.

Baseball has always been sacred to me, and this is in large part due to my father. Our entire life, we've communicated through baseball, and I finally had the opportunity to take him to Fenway Park. This is less an essay about baseball than it is about fathers and sons.

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"It's a Panic Attack, Jack"
"Yoga Pants Nation"

My entire life I've suffered from crippling panic attacks. Here is a a piece where I try to explain something somewhat ineffable. 

I set out to write a satire about yoga pants, and it ended up inciting a veritable shit-storm that the editors at The Good Men Project titled "Yoga Pants-gate." This has the dubious distinction of being my most read and notorious piece of writing to date.