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How to Find Your Hotel If You’re Lost In Ghent
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Local Color—Ghent, Belgium: How to Find Your Hotel If You’re Lost In Ghent

Back in my salad days I once tricked the Belgian government into paying to fly me & two friends to give an arts lecture in Ghent under assumed names (long story, now recounted elsewhere on this site).

The Kunstencentrum Vooruit (Vooruit Arts Center), where we delivered our address, was an elegant old 1910 festival hall in Ghent, with galleries and lecture halls above and a bar in the basement, and which had once been used by the Nazis during the occupation.

The folks from Vooruit put us up in a 300-year-old hotel where hotel owners' incredibly classy cafe on the first floor kept us both caffeinated and entertained, with live a cappella opera singers, and the hotel part was reached by going through a door in the back of a closet.

Just a block or two from the hotel was a row of several…

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Local Color—Yee Haw: Texas

I'll tell you about Texas. Back in '95, me and my friend Haley went down to his Dad's timeshare in Port Aransas, Texas, a little beach resort town about 45 minutes south of Corpus Christi, for a week of sportfishing on the gulf. So, the first night in town, we go out on the town, hit a bunch of bars. We come to this one bar, where they tell us they haven't got their liquor license yet, so, by some strange twist of Texan logic, all drinks cost $2.

So we go and have a drink. And behind the bar, there's this girl, it's not politically correct but I can only describe this girl as a "Texas honey"—pretty, curly blond hair, cowboy hat. And we're there a few minutes, and this older guy starts hassling us, making drunken accusations, saying we're with the liquor board or something, and the only…

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Writing » Anecdotal Evidence (True Stories) » Local Color: True Stories From Near And Far
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Local Color—Manhattan: New York Stories, Which I Only Now Realize Are All About Petty Crimes

Originally posted on my old site. I'd have called this "New York After Dark", but the souvlaki guy story happened in the middle of the afternoon.

Back in the '80s & early '90s New York City was much different than it is now. Filthy, violent, and the meat packing district was a not a place you went after dark. I used to jot down my day-to-day experiences there. I truthfully didn't realize, until I collected a few of them together on this page, how, uh, bad it was. (And I'll tell you what, these are the milder stories that are fit for public consumption and won't scare my mom if she reads this site. Take me out for a beer sometime and I'll tell you some real stories.)

Looking out for the homeless

After a night of shooting on a small movie I was doing sound…

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Local Color—Seattle: Irene & Sheri

This was originally posted on my old website, Life In A Mikeycosm.

Before you read this, I should warn you. This story contains one of the grossest things I've ever heard. By the end of the story, things improve and it winds up as one of the funniest things that has ever happened to me... but if you're at all sqeamish, if you're the sort of person who just can't watch some of David Cronenberg's best movies, you really might want to skip this one.

This is all true. I swear to you. This has not been exaggerated or distorted for the sake of a good narrative... no embellishment could supersede the actual events. Although, one change I made is to divide what happened into three acts, for narrative purposes. It didn't happen that way originally, it was just one thing and then another, one long…

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Writing » Anecdotal Evidence (True Stories) » Local Color: True Stories From Near And Far
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Local Color—San Francisco: Tales From The Sidewalks Of San Francisco

An Afternoon At The Races, Unplanned

So, last night I was standing on Mission in South of Market with my phone out, trying to find a nearby hardware store, when off in the distance, maybe a block behind me, I thought I heard a voice yell, "Stop!"

My mind went off into a daydream for a second—what if there's a thief coming my way, and I get to trip him up? But wait—what if the "thief" is actually a victim in danger, being chased by a criminal, and I'd be helping the criminal by stopping him? What should I do? I didn't have time to think more than that, though, because from a half a block away, clearly now, I heard a panicked man's voice: "Stop!"

Now, I had my phone in one hand, which is chained to my belt, and my very heavy briefcase slung over my back, so…

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