Checkout examples of my work
I’ve written most of the copy on this site. Here is a specific article I wrote for a Psycho Therapist’s monthly newsletter that works with patients who have PTSD.
Live Music Entertainment
Written for a Talent Agency booking high-end corporate events and convention work.
Lindy’s. Hard to describe. Easy to love.
“If you don’t love Lindy’s, then there’s something wrong with you.”
-Patty Rivera, Pilsen
“You’ve never felt true love until you’ve truly loved a Lindy’s”
-Mike Noren, Old Irving
“Lindy’s. The source of and reason for guilty pleasures.”
-Fr. Charlie, St. Ben’s
Before I try and describe this savory culinary accomplishment to you … I have a confession to make …. You see, I’m all grown up now. And I’ve been capable of making my own dietary choices for myself for many years now.
In pure, simple terms … I am what you call a “Food Snob’.
This hidden secret hot dog joint of mine is my one true deception to my friends. You see, if they were to ever put me in a lineup of 20 other men? I’d be the last one to get picked to have a heart attack before 40. I’m known as the “kale eater’ at my neighborhood BBQ. I’m the guy that cooks his veggie burger medium rare.
I would take my wife to Lindy’s for a romantic dinner … and she would let me. Which is probably why she is still my wife to this day.
If you want to, you can go out and dine in some swanky, white linen table cloth place that has menus written in fancy lettering with names I have no idea how to pronounce politely in public.
You can have your oak lined walls and padded carpets that sink under your Italian leather loafers where you’ll sit in a chair so big that it feels like you’re about to be examined by a team of surgeons.
I want a Lindy’s where you get to eat standing up at the counter. Where your fries are boiled in duck fat. Where the hot dog snaps when you bite into it and the juice runs down your chin.
I want a Lindy’s where you wait in line for 30 minutes and make 10 new friends before getting your food.
I want a Lindy’s where you’ll want to grab as many napkins in your fist as you can before going out to eat in the noon day sun with all the electricians from the power plant across the street.
Where the parking lot is a pot holed gravel pit filled with utility trucks from everywhere in the city and suburbs.
Where the carpenters and the brick layers take off their gloves to eat because they’re going to be licking every scrumptious drop off their fingers when their finished.
What the hell could ever taste so good? I’m glad you asked.