Author Archives: Max Hendrickson

Last weekend I cleaned a friend’s grandfather’s old house in East Meadow, Long Island. An octogenarian, Seymour Mausner recently moved to an assisted living home and his family is putting his old house on the market. To do so, they are emptying the house of anything personal. Enter five college kids, 100 garbage bags and »

Three hints: more water on the floor than Toad’s after the foam party, paper towels strewn qua Tazmanian devil, and a persistent stink like the military latrines at Diên Biên Phû. I’m starting this series of blog posts with my least favorite bathroom at Yale: the trench that is the first floor, single-occupancy unisex bathroom »

Timidly ordering my drink as usual, I nervously sidled up to Stella Blues’ bar and was unexpectedly greeted by its resident music enthusiast, Spo-dough. This bar is a chapel whose patron saints are Jerry Garcia, Frank Zappa and Jeff Beck – and the only place in New Haven you’ll find their records inset under the »

English Professor Donald Margulies sat with scene on Tuesday to discuss the New York City run of his new play, “Time Stands Still.” From behind his desk in Linsley-Chittenden, he spoke calmly. The man has won a Pulitzer Prize, so yeah, he’s at ease with all forms of dialogue. Margulies has enjoyed an especially close »

Rarely do Shakespearean sonnets remind us that the Bard too must have screwed, shat and pissed. This week’s Yale Cabaret production, “By Ill Be Cured,” presents all three plus neuroticism, as we are reminded that love is just as agonizing as it is blissful. Pulitzer winner Tony Kushner and writer/actor Eric Bogosian (Pulitzer nominee but »

The Yale Cabaret’s mission statement this year is “a gauntlet thrown in the face of our future.” But its current production, “The Surrender Tree,” more aptly portrays the gauntlet thrown in the face of our past. The play is a staged-adaptation of a Spanish and English children’s book by Margarita Engle about the Cuban War »

As an 11-year-old on a frozen lake in Minneapolis, my neighborhood octogenarian Mr. Gibbs shouted at me, “WHAT? Do ya think I’m a damn fool?!” After having offered to share my ice hole with him, he trudged along another hundred yards with his 80-pound mechanical auger dragging on the ice behind him and his pole »