Small town news used to be small time news. A cat stuck in a tree. A car rolled through a stop-sign and the driver was sighted, and cited. This ho-hum borough council meeting induced more yawns than it did votes, and that local library held a bake sale. These days…

I’m afraid to write this essay. But then, I’m afraid of everything, so what the hell? Even if I don’t write it, I’ll still be afraid. Just not of this. Of something else. Of accidentally dropping the toaster in the sink while I’m washing dishes. I mean, I don’t have…

I first realized that Gilbert & Sullivan were problematic before I had ever performed in my first operetta. At age 23, I had graduated over a year earlier with a Bachelor’s degree in Theatre. Unsure of how to use that professionally, I was thinking about dipping my toe into the…

Goddamn, man. That’s pressure. While I am double-vaxxed and boosted, I do realize that COVID could come for me, wrapping itself endearingly around my pleurally-sensitive, asthmatic lungs and refusing to let go until I expire amidst a sea of tubes and beeps that drive ICU nurses crazy night and day…

It’s very hashtageriffic, if you’re a mental health advocate in America, to lash out against “stigma” in your battle royale in which you are engaged against… well, against what? Stigma? So you post and you use #fuckstigma or #stigmasucks or #suckitstigma or #stigmasucksbigfatsalamititties in your vitriolic mental health de-stigmatization posts…

Suicide awareness-raising is an odd hobby. I call it a hobby, but I guess you could call it a mission, or a vocation — I don’t know. Those sound kind of lofty to me. I have called it a “mission” from time-to-time, but it’s a little strong for my tastes…

Poor Mrs. McCabe. They didn’t train school nurses back in the eighties to deal with motherfuckers like me. Nowadays, elementary school nurses have had their training ratcheted up a few ticks; they’re trained in everything from crisis intervention, suicide prevention, and (you know, because this is America, where the 2nd…

On September 24, in Collierville, Tennessee, some asshole shot up a Kroger supermarket. A few hours after the shooting stopped, and one victim died and fourteen others were being worked on in area hospitals, a small-town Chief of Police stood before a slew of reporters and microphones, as small-town Chiefs…

I have no idea what instinct kicked in to get me to start doing this, but my pen flew as she talked — I received an email earlier this year from a friend — someone I know casually. Okay, she’s the girlfriend of a folk singer I listen to. Look, I can’t explain these things. Talk to my mother. Anyway, her email began with, “So I guess you’re the suicide guy.” …