September 17, 2013

The Old Guy

There were three of us occupying a corner of the large open office. One of the guys was

David gets a rude awakening about his age. 

a kid out of Goldman Sachs, eager to make his mark. The other was much older and wanted a piece of the action, for equity in something that might crown his career. Big players were financing the startup; they had committed millions. Then there was me, a journeyman not there for equity or a job, but for a paycheck. We operated apart from the rest of the digital agency, which busied itself with mobile/social media/mashup/community apps.

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September 7, 2013

The Drunkards of Hobson

“You can’t run from unhappiness,” Paul said. He wore his herringbone workman’s cap, ink-stained in the

A Vermont town’s drunkards get some airtime.

right corner. He had returned to Vermont seeking to modulate, with trees and fresh air, the manic depression he had previously tried to modulate by drinking. But Paul forgot that drinking is woven into the texture of life here; it is as much a part of the day-to-day as bluegrass and rolling hills and cheap prefabs and red barns. Vermont had resolved nothing for Paul. It’s an alcoholic’s paradise.

“But it’s so pretty here!” I whined. “Why am I still miserable? Continue reading