The Neil Diamond Disease

I used to rollerskate around my kitchen with my superhero-colored bathrobe flapping, singing Neil Diamond's song, "I Am, I Said" at the top of my lungs. Is it a coincidence that I ended up in New York City and writing a story about The Neil Diamond Disease?

After a weekend spent with the Essential Neil Diamond, I just posted a brand new piece at the Travel Goat storytelling archive:

"Can you imagine Neil Diamond making $50 a week? I think about Neil Diamond like a Betty Crocker recipe for Hitting the Big Time Pop Music Jackpot: one cup of Las Vegas kitsch, one cup of Los Angeles glamour, a diluted dash of Southern soul, and too many heaping spoonfuls of Midwestern artificial sweetener.

Nobody remembers that before he ever had a gold album, his blow-dried hairstyle or his rhinestone jacket, Neil Diamond toiled inside the songwriter factories of the fabled Brill Building in Times Square."

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