Last week the Grantland story of "Dr. V.'s Magical Putter" posted and a couple of days later, all hell broke loose. (For the uninitiated, here are three good pieces to help explain why it was so problematic.)
Here's a story from all those who love (or hate) a parade.
Please read before the turkey-induced coma sets in.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
(A note of gratitude to Mr. Beller's Neighborhood for posting this yarn.)
GREAT NEWS, EVERYBODY! MY WEBSITE IS BACK UP AND RUNNING!
I can tell by the zero inquiries I got regarding it that this was troubling to one and all.
In celebration, here's a story about how I was a Bad News Bear (via The Classical) and these two turkeys. Don't scrimp on the gravy.
As of late, I've been dancing in some dark places over at Biographile. First stop, the mountains of rural Alaska, where a bewildering mountain man brought his wife and 15 kids to set up camp in an abandoned mining town. The family took on the National Park Service and became folk-singing folk heroes. Nobody knew that back in the woods, the patriarch --a man who proclaimed to be personally delivering the Word of God--was putting his family through a living hell. The family's crazier-and scarier-than-fiction tale is brilliantly told in Pilgrim's Wilderness, a firsthand account from former Anchorage Daily News writer Tom Kizzia.
We leave the Wild West and head to the Wild West Side of Baltimore, where a high school student Sheri Booker took a summer job at a funeral home and stayed on for nearly a decade. She learned at the hands and toe-tagged feet of Mr. Wylie, a community mainstay, a dedicated entrepreneur, and an important mentor. Tragically, Booker's Baltimore is the same as Bunk's and far too many young people have their life snuffed out by violent means. Booker captures the sadness, and also the immense joy, of her years in the funeral home racket in Nine Years Under.
Grim stuff, great writing.