Posts by Nathan Graziano
But Christmas gift-giving, to me, seems to devolve into more demarcations between the “have’s” and “have not’s” in this country, which is antithetical to the spirit of the season.
The fake news media is refusing to report that my book, “Fly Like The Seagull,” actually won both awards — and many other really huge awards that most people have never heard of because they’re only awarded to people with big brains — but all of the votes that many great people on the selection committees cast for me were tossed out or ignored.
For Shelly-Anne Storer, owner and executive chef at The Wild Orchid Bakery in Manchester, the journey from her native-island of Trinidad to The Queen City has been anything but simple.
While decorating the house, they would blast Christmas music—I’m currently considering legal action against Mariah Carey—then spend the rest of the day watching the abject inanity of Christmas movies on The Hallmark Channel, which recycles the same essential plot from November until New Year’s Eve with myriad arrays of three-dimensional characters.
I know. Every family has its idiosyncrasies. Everyone has the strange relative who shows up to dinner with a boa constrictor wound around their neck, or the red-eyed drunken uncle who has been looking for discarded Donald Trump ballots in the streams and dumpsters of Pennsylvania. But here’s my family’s strange contribution.
Movember is an online charity movement to raise awareness of men’s health issues, both physical and mental, such as prostate cancer, testicular cancer and men’s suicide. In short, you grow a mustache for the month of November (no shame) to call attention to these important issues and try to solicit donations. As someone who lives with mental illness, the idea appealed to me.
While I agree that turning the clocks ahead in March for Daylight Savings Time to begin, thus mugging us for an hour of sleep, is unforgivable and flat-out unacceptable, turning said clocks back in November should not be open for debate.
I don’t have a lot of rules in my house. Ask my kids. I like to believe that common sense—as a rule itself—will govern most people, although I live with two adolescents hell-bent on proving me wrong. But the one rule I enforce: No Ouija boards in my house.
Like many Americans, I watched the vice-presidential debate on Wednesday night, and when the fly landed on the flat screen, I got up from my seat to swat it off.
Tom Petty’s untimely passing in 2017 sent shockwaves throughout the music world—for fans and artists, alike. But at The Rex Theatre in Manchester on Friday, Oct. 2, his legacy was resurrected—and revered—by a group of New Hampshire musicians who did exactly what Petty spent the span of five decades doing himself. They rocked the hell out of his tunes.
Sometimes the soul cries for a straight shot of open-chords and 4/4 rock n’ roll to soothe it, and when it comes to that quintessential kind of rock, few did it better than the late-Tom Petty.
In college and throughout my early adulthood, I fashioned myself a progressive. I grew my hair long and wore tie-dye shirts and burned Sandalwood incense and even went to a Dead show—weeks before Jerry Garcia died (nota bene: I still love The Dead). In the 90s, this was considered “woke.” But there was a problem with this posture.
Leave your wife then schedule a colonoscopy. Your wife, quite obviously, has kept you subdued for decades with bills and kids and vacations to Florida, and now it’s time for you to rise—a phoenix ascending from your Man Cave—and reassert your primal self into the universe.
I wake before the alarm. While I’ve been teaching high school for over 20 years, the anxiety about meeting new students—young people whose education, the single most important facet of the human condition, has been placed in my charge—still keeps me tossing in bed all night.
I’m not particularly good at it. I’m not very limber, some Asanas are near-impossible for me — for example, I’m never going to learn Crow Pose — and, admittedly, watching sports and drinking beer often gets in the way of my practice.
Let me preface this piece by saying that I’m not a psychologist or an expert on the topic. My experiences are not academic. But, in my opinion, the phrase — “I’m having a panic attack” — is one of the most overused and misunderstood of the modern age.
For the Senior Director of Public Affairs at Dartmouth-Hitchcock Health and a former Chief Justice of the New Hampshire Supreme Court Judge John T. Broderick Jr. the discussion of mental health in America is one of the most vital topics for people today, especially since a global pandemic that has amplified anxiety, stress and depression.
The truth is that we’re not returning to any sense of normalcy until there’s a vaccine to combat this bitch called COVID-19, and even then it will take time — and a concerted effort from the federal government — to assure everyone is inoculated.
I looked at the dog, and the dog looked back at me with these droopy, watery eyes. Listen, I’m not a complete curmudgeon — of course he was cute. Puppies are cute. But it was beside the point that my wishes had been blatantly ignored, and now this tiny pug would live in my house and undermine my authority.
