SG | Stop me if you’ve heard this one: It’s the end of summer, probably 1997. I’m standing in the kitchen of my parents’ house in Montgomery, where my dad is wrapping up his lunch break. There are some fresh jalapeños by the sink, their skin smooth and shiny and deep green, and somehow or another — if only I could remember the conversation that led up to it — my dad has me convinced that I should take a bite of one.
SG | The other day, my brother, Craig, reached out to our mom and me about a sweater. “Do we still have dad’s letter sweater from Bishop Flaget?” He remembered the name of our dad’s high school in Chillicothe, Ohio, knowledge I had never previously possessed. Craig had worn the sought-after sweater on “’50s Day”... Continue Reading →
SG | My appreciation of bourbon has gone through several evolutions over the years. Mellowed and aged, if you will. In college, I had a penchant for what is the gateway cocktail for many burgeoning bourbon lovers: Jim Beam and Coke. In a mason jar. My roommates and I developed a “set it and forget... Continue Reading →
SG | You don’t go for the gas,offered from two pumpsbleached by decades of sunthe handles thick with grease,the corroded metal lever that makes the gas comea mystery. You’re unsure if it would even shut off automatically,or if gasoline would spill outwhile you’re inside,stammering an archaic-feeling“Fill-up on 2, please,”as the gas pools along the roadsideand the... Continue Reading →
The Incidentalist 