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true stories

The Creature of Seat 27E…

Over the last few years, I’ve found myself on planes quite often traveling to my various points of the globe. Most times, I’ve been lucky to meet some really cool people on flights. Even some REALLY cool people. Sometimes, I meet nobody at all. And yes, I’ve also met some incredibly annoying people as well.

But nothing, I tell you, NOTHING could have prepared me for the evil, insanity incarnate that I was about to experience on my most recent flight from Orlando to Los Angeles. What was supposed to be a rather uneventful five and a half hour afternoon flight would no doubt become the ultimate test of patience, tolerance, and will. (more…)

Pop, and mastering fear….

So, that time of year rolls around again, the anniversary of Pop’s death. It’s been six years now, and I still wonder if I will ever get through one milestone unfazed. I always seem to think that the “next time” it will be easier or less taxing, but it just doesn’t seem to happen. At least not yet. 🙁

Anyway, here I am, going through my usual introspective grieving period that I have now grown fairly accustomed to. I start looking for some inspiration on what to write about regarding Pop. On one hand, I have to be grateful for these milestone periods I go through regarding my parents. Because it seems to be the sole force that makes me have to sit down and write. (more…)

Pop goes to McDonald’s in Centre Pompidou…

Being in Europe while Pop’s birthday passes today, I couldn’t help but think about his last jaunt out here. It was courtesy of my ex-wife and me. The time I spent in Amsterdam during this jaunt particularly brought back memories. In the midst of it all, I’d find myself grinning or laughing out loud remembering his antics from those fateful weeks he spent with us road tripping from Holland to France. But I also had to shed a few tears. (more…)

Alter Ego on Michigan Avenue

This is a true story.

I grew up in Chicago up until I was about 11 years old. Growing up in the southside of Chicago was kinda tough. I wasn’t a big kid, a mix of Italian and Brazilian with curly hair. The odds were stacked pretty high against me in the mainly Polish and Irish middle-class neighborhood of Bridgeport.

From what I hear, it’s no longer that kind of neighborhood anymore. Rather, it’s been gentrified pretty good on account of a recent real estate boom consisting mainly of yuppies and young families moving back into the city from the suburbs. (more…)