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Hey there! My name is Jeremy, and I'm the Editor-at-Large at the Next Big Idea Club, a subscription book club and media startup dedicated to elevating new, groundbreaking nonfiction books. I'm also pursuing a Master of Social Work degree at the University of Denver, and I'm enrolled in the Marriage and Family Therapy certificate program at Denver Family Institute.
In my spare time, I'm a freelance culture journalist for outlets such as VICE, Vulture, Maxim, MEL, and The Take. I'm also a frequent contributor to Alternative Press Magazine, and I wrote their May 2022 cover story on Dance Gavin Dance for the print edition. Finally, I've written copy—from artificial intelligence explainers to official band bios—for clients like Toptal and Rise Records.
As for my academic background, I graduated magna cum laude from Vanderbilt University, where I studied literature, math, and psychology. I'm also an alum of the Columbia Publishing Course, and I've been a featured speaker at both Columbia and Hampton University journalism programs. Feel free to get in touch!
If you're a fan of Avenged Sevenfold , you're probably all too aware that it's been six-and-a-half long years since their last studio album. Where's the new material from these gods of modern metal? Well, dear reader, Christmas is coming in June this year.
With the untimely passing of their beloved bassist Tim Feerick, Dance Gavin Dance are in the midst of a sudden and profound crisis. But as they proceed with plans to commemorate their friend with the release of their 10th studio album, Jackpot Juicer, they seem headed for new heights of bittersweet success.
“Each one of us now has, in our body, atoms of people who lived before us. In a way, it means that they continue on—and so will you.”
What makes a person who they are? This question lies at the heart of The Prestige, Christopher Nolan’s 2006 movie about two warring magicians, played by Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale, who risk everything to become the master of their craft.
The first time I gripped a steering wheel, I was white-knuckling my way through a south Florida golf course at a blistering twelve miles an hour. I sat on my grandfather's lap, his right foot working the cart's gas and brake while I swerved us down the path.
Were we to travel back in time, the world of 1999 would be practically unrecognizable. No obsessive allure of social media, no traumatic memory of 9/11, no widespread fear of climate catastrophe—it seems like a different, simpler time.
Nikki Fury jumped and smashed his skull against a low-hanging beam. It wasn't part of his routine. Fortunately, his shimmering black wig—which paired nicely with his leopard-print vest and Queensrÿche undies—cushioned the worst of the blow. He rubbed his scalp with a playful smirk, then put his headphones back in and started strumming again.
Like high-school seniors just before graduation, superhero fans around the world have awaited the release of Avengers: Endgame with both eager anticipation and a bittersweet sense of nostalgia. The 182-minute movie signals the conclusion of a memorable chapter in American cinema, a time when Robert Downey Jr.'s Iron Man and Chris Evans's Captain America almost felt like real (super) people who'd aged along with us over the course of 11 years.
"The behavior manipulation machine makes you cranky, makes you irritable, makes you paranoid, makes you sad. Even Facebook's own researchers have published that."