By Mike Tessier
Published September 2012, Volume 33, Number 4
It is Tuesday night in my neighborhood and a chance to procrastinate penning this piece. My neighbor Peter has hosted darts in his garage for the last 15 years, featuring a rotating cast of characters. The place is cool, everyone brings his own beers, good music, people don’t take themselves too seriously, my dog is welcome, and occasionally a hand-rolled cigarette is shared.
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By Alan Shapiro
Published July 2012, Volume 33, Number 3
Alcoholic beverages were not a part of my upbringing. There was no prohibition or religious objection—it just wasn’t a daily part of our lives. We had the tiny glass of concord grape wine with our weekly Sabbath dinner, and my parents hosted the occasional cocktail party. In retrospect, I would seem an unlikely candidate to be part of this industry. But somehow it intrigued me. I was initially drawn to the romance of wine and pursued jobs at wine shops, which led to my first real job with Seagram’s Wine Co.
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By Jason Avant
Published March 2012, Volume 33, Number 1
Read that headline again.
I vaguely remember asking my dad that very question. If I had to guess, I was in the third grade. My dad wasn’t a regular beer drinker, but he certainly enjoyed a cold Bud after a few hours of mowing the lawn under the blazing Nebraska summer sun. One day I mustered up the courage to ask him. Read More…
By Ian Rankin
Published January 2012, Volume 32, Number 6
I arrived in Edinburgh as a student in October 1978, and began my love affair with the city’s pubs. At first, I stuck to the student haunts but was soon introduced to “proper” bars such as Bennets on Leven Street and The Café Royal Bar in the city center. I was in the process of becoming a writer, but it took a few years for me to produce my first novel. Read More…
By Craig Popelars
Published November 2011, Volume 32, Number 5
“Look!” I cried, “The Cardinal’s back! It must be the black oil sunflower seed that I put in the feeder!” As those words tumbled from my mouth, I knew I was screwed. My friend Steve was speechless.
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By Benjamin Goulet
Published September 2011, Volume 32, Number 4
As a children’s librarian, I read hundreds of picture books to kids every year. Once a month or so, I pick up a book that seems oddly familiar and I have the experience, an almost physical sensation that I’ve begun to call the Memory Rush.
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