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Anthony Bourdain

It feels odd. Maudlin, even. To write a personal in memoriam about a celebrity I admired. Admired. Past tense. That gets me. I never met Mr. Bourdain. He seemed to like other writers, and I’m about six weeks away from being published, and I’ll admit to holding out hope—a childish,…


Cleaning Out the Old Accordion

Parting ways with the "Sommelier of Deformity" materials, thoughts on Millennial v. Gen X, Scorpio v. Capricorn, typing v. freehand.

Books by Nick Yetto