A music fan from Plano introduced me to The Flaming Lips. He was a typical suburban misfit–dark, twisted, a disposable income–who played the album In a Priest Driven Ambulance as we sat Indian-style on a cigarette-stained carpet in a room with greasy handprints around the light switches. He made sure…

“Moshing” wasn’t a word in 1969, let alone an outdated exercise, yet the Rolling Stones hosted a more violent show at Altamont Speedway 30 years ago than the the infamous Limp Bizkit performance at Woodstock ’99. The presence of the Hell’s Angels with lead-weighted pool cues acting as out-of-control security…

A Cut AboveThe wide-eyed, hyper-alert, sweaty-palm appeal of horror has not been mine to enjoy. A haunted house named Brigantine Castle on the New Jersey shore took that away from me. I walked in tall–a strutting 6-year-old–but I walked out a whimpering, shivering shell of a boy. More than two…