Posts by Nathan Graziano
On Feb. 11 at The Shaskeen Pub, Azevedo will host “Tales from The Queen City,” an event that promises to be part storytelling, part vaudeville, and a whole lot of interesting.
So, here I am, nearing the end of my stint of isolation in my house—mostly alone—and maybe my biggest takeaway so far involves the eradication of a certain tired phrase from my personal lexicon. The phrase: “I’m too busy.”
Maybe you should make yourself watch “Elf” and crank up the Dean Martin Christmas tunes, deck the freaking halls, pick out a tree and decorate it with tinsel and lights and bright-colored bulbs. Or maybe the only thing you can do is wait out the storm.
Like many authors, I had the hard luck of having a book published smack-dab in the middle of COVID-19 when many businesses—particularly local bookstores—were struggling to stay open.
What if I could be a screenwriter for SVU?
Our American democracy is in trouble. In the past six years, we have watched a full-frontal assault on the objective truth, largely led by an unhinged narcissist propagating The Big Lie that our last presidential election was stolen, rigged to elect President Joe Biden. If you believe this inane falsehood, you might want to stop reading now.
Free of charge, the general public can view the display through portals looking into the garage at 159 Jewett St. from 7-10 p.m. each night until Nov. 6.
For starters, there’s nothing worse than being trite, or predictable. I understand that it makes the costume arrangements easier for The Blonde Woman and The Gray-Haired Man: They can simply wear black suits and ties and sunglasses, then use me as the centerpiece for their ridiculous couple’s costume.
I have a simple request for the Leaf Peepers inundating New Hampshire and clogging every road and highway in the state like plaque in an artery.
The Manchester-based band Donaher—who describes their sound as “a throwback, heavy on ’90s pop-punk nostalgia”—was nominated for “Album of the Year” for their 2022 sophomore record “Gravity and the Stars Above” while receiving a second nod in the “Rising Stars: New Hampshire” category.
Recently, I came across an ESPN “30 for 30 Podcast” titled “The Longest Game,” which was about said game that began at McCoy Stadium on April 18, 1981—a windy, frigid night on the Saturday before Easter. The game was suspended in the top of the 33rd inning at 4 a.m. then resumed on June 23.
In 15 minutes you’re scheduled for your annual physical exam, and whatever you do, don’t compare yourself to Dave Grohl, who is only six years older but a few centuries cooler than you.
At the risk of sounding like a curmudgeon, a wet blanket or a sardonic asshole, the whole “Friday”-thing exasperates me[3]. In fairness, I’ve never been a big proponent of small talk. I’m a little awkward around people and, quite frankly, not very good at banal conversation.
It’s 9 p.m. on a Saturday as Becca Myari finishes tuning her guitar and starts her first set for a tipsy crowd at The Strange Brew Tavern in downtown Manchester.
This academic year marks the first time since COVID-19 shut down the world in March of 2020 that educators have experienced anything that resembles normalcy in our schools. There are no mask requirements, unless a person has recently contracted the virus; there is no social distancing; there is no remote learning—synchronous or asynchronous—no spraying down student desks between classes, and no COVID-19 PowerPoint presentations from the school nurse.
So I picked up the envelope and carried it inside, laying it on the kitchen table while trying to figure out how I was going to afford a lawyer. I tore open the top of the envelope and quickly gleaned that there weren’t divorce papers inside, rather a vinyl album.
This is due to the fact that Heathcliff and I both struggle with anxiety disorders[2] that can make socializing strenuous and sometimes manifests in panic attacks—sometimes at a table with comfortable and gregarious friends.
I suppose there’s no graceful way of phrasing this—especially to music aficionados, many of whom I’ve interviewed and written about and will likely never take me seriously again. So I’ll just say it bluntly with my shoulders back and my chin up. I love Billy Squier’s music.
At an old farmhouse, now owned by Rob and Julie Azevedo—originally built in the late-19th Century and renovated to include modern amenities—friends are gathering to share company, conviviality and, more importantly, music.
