My dad, by all accounts, is a great dad. He knows how to work on cars, loves war documentaries, and has perfectly corny dad jokes (I recently told him I saw a Bald Eagle in the wild and he told me, without missing a beat, to ask if its head

  Howdy, brokesters… apologies for the lack of TBC musings as of late. Happy new year and shit. If you follow me on Twitter/are stalking me in real life, you know that I spent the holiday season getting blotto in my beloved home state of Wisconsin. Yes, America’s darling Dairyland.

It’s Springtime in San Francisco, which means it’s time to put your phone on silent for a while and step out into our fair city to sing, eat, and play with the wonderful people and programming on offer. Whether in the flesh or on a live stream, the journalists and

Recently, I plopped down onto my couch to watch the Martin Scorcese documentary about vintage babe George Harrison, titled George Harrison: Living in the Material World.  I noticed two things, the first of which being that my dad looks scarily like Eric Clapton: