Pontypool: the many lives of a Canadian horror classic
The first time I saw the word “Pontypool,” I was in the bathroom at Chicago’s Music Box – a famous, old movie palace – attending the annual 24-hour horror-fest known as The Massacre. A slanted poster with the complete running order of the festival was taped to...
Mr. January
Mr. January is at least 43 now. He is the face of clean living and resolutions kept. In his fireman’s suspenders, he has the kind of muscled, but not overly muscled chest that reveals a good year of conscientious workouts at the gym. He’s acquiring that barrel-shape very...
The secret diary of John Hay
EDITOR’S NOTE: John Hay was one of two secretaries who were like adopted sons to Abraham Lincoln. He and John J. Nicolay assisted Lincoln, kept visitors at bay, and were always available as the 16th President managed the country’s greatest crisis. Together, Hay and...
Children's Stories
In the end, it wasn’t the knights in shining armor or the friendly dragons that did it: it was the pink bunnies that made my wife divorce me. I write children’s books, you see, and so I’m always coming home with something new to put in a story. At first she thought it...
Night Train
We were strangers on the train, staring blankly at the dark glass, reflected in ebony sheets of remembrance. If I pressed my face to the pane, I could tell we were rushing by. But apart from a pale, flickering shadow on the window, we were nowhere.
No one spoke at...
The Branch
“The earworms are the worst part,” she was saying.
Ivan looked up from his beer. She was staring at him with a nervous half-smile, her eyes wide black holes in the dim of the bar. Her fingers interlocked around a glass of cranberry juice that she still...
The Mercenary
He did not covet gold or jewels, though he had won them. He traveled only with the whetstone needed to sharpen his spear, and punished anyone who came near it. He slept soundly, and when he dreamed of the faces he had killed they were all turned away.
On Sparta...
Micro-Meetings with Remarkable Men (apologies to Gurdjieff…)
Last week I met the President, and discovered I’m not cynical after all. I’m as surprised as you are.
I'm not usually one to be starstruck. But I can't deny that my meeting with our once and future president three days before his reelection left me in something...
On Humanity’s Indefatigable Quest for Perfection
Preparing her dinner the other night, my wife was disappointed to notice that the “Sausage Rolls” she’d purchased from Zehrs contained “spicy chicken” filler. Apparently “Sausage Rolls” wasn’t meant to be read as an adjective modifying a noun but as a complete proper...
Elder's Game: Modernity, Mormonism, and Aesthetic Intuitions about Religious Legitimacy
The cliché “with eyes wide open” presents an interesting irony when instantiated physically and in a conversation about whether or not the Indians ever hung out with Jesus. I’ll explain.
Once, there was Alex, the dishwasher. Alex was a lanky, blandly...
