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Sky Burton

Sky Burton

His voice sounded like Jeff Goldblum—flirty, dirty, possibly dangerous.

Chapter 8 - Just a Small Bite

Sunday, April 24, 1994 Only a few years had passed since the mature discipline of statistics had started up a passionate affair with the very young and sexy computer science. It was going to prove to be a dangerous union—a black swan with world-reaching consequences. The conference was one

Torrey Pines Golf Club does not carry this sweatshirt.

Fast, Fluffy, and Furious

I’m usually pretty organized. The kind of person with alphabetized spice racks and a backup phone charger in every bag. But every once in a while, life throws me a curveball—like a last-minute call from a PR client asking me to meet them outside the Del Mar Thoroughbred

How Leonard Cohen, Jeff Buckley, and Louis Tomlinson Speak the Same Language

How Leonard Cohen, Jeff Buckley, and Louis Tomlinson Speak the Same Language

What binds Cohen, Buckley, and Tomlinson is not genre or fame. It’s something quieter and more sacred. They stood apart, each in their own time, each in their own way. And in doing so, they created work that doesn’t just last, it lives.

Leonard Cohen, Jeff Buckley, and Louis Tomlinson

We Could’ve Been Something

Marianne’s name faded, the ink still brave: “Endless love, see you down the road.” The words glowed like a candle that refuses midnight.

Leonard Cohen, Jeff Buckley, and Louis Tomlinson

Some Songs Don’t End.

Her heart stung in that familiar way, as if someone she hadn’t met had once broken it on her behalf. Outside, the wind bent the trees. Inside, she rewound the tape—not ready for the silence that followed.

Leonard Cohen, Jeff Buckley, and Louis Tomlinson

They Called Him Difficult

She watched him from the back of the venue, where the lights didn’t reach, tears catching on her lashes as he sang a line she knew wasn’t for charts, but for them, the ones who had been bruised by believing too hard in the wrong people

Where to go in Costa Rica for laid back sun, fun, and surf.

Where the Roads Have No Names, Only Reputations

The first 48 hours in Costa Rica: I awoke at sunrise. I always do. Usually, a few birds chattering like caffeinated middle managers kick off the day. But that morning, my thoughts were racing—ten madmen circling one folding chair, each of them me. There would be no boredom for