Spent my college years at Penn -- only instead of staying on campus, I roamed around the grittier neighborhoods of Philly, interviewing boxers past and present -- which projected resulted in a nonfiction book entitled -- not very creatively -- "Boxing in Philadelphia," which was published in the fall of 2014 (a paperback came out a year later).
I've written features (often at 3,000 words) for The Washington Post, Men's Journal, Rolling Stone, Vice and Props. Also Brooklyn Magazine.
I think I'm a damn good writer who's stymied from achieving his most closely-held goals by an autoimmune brain condition similar to MS. Without that, I'd be penning novels and emulating my mentor, Paul Hendrickson, by diving deep into the sorts of non-fiction stories marked less by plotting than by language and insight and, sometimes, emotion.
So, yeah, I'm somewhat self-loathing (or health-self-loathing), but I can cover everything from the prints of Toulouse-Lautrec to sports to exhibitions about the bubonic plague (did that one nine years ago for the Post).
I'd be a gonzo journalist if healthier and more robust -- instead I lean on my chocolate and Diet Pepsi (I miss the aspartame) and just try to dig into this world of stories as deeply as possible. Outside of college, I've spent my entire life in New York City -- not that I'd be opposed to going abroad. I just want to say that I understand wholeheartedly just how many stories transpire in the naked city.
Also, for real, how many dudes who cover boxers are enamored of Tom Ford's brilliant Tobacco Vanille scent?
