My family group chat is fired up about the disrespect that Jon Bon Jovi just threw at us New Jerseyans

Chili on everything. The potato skins. The pigs in a blanket. The pretzel rivets. The palm of my hand.

I already miss Dan McQuade. I was captivated by his writing for two decades, and blessed to call him a friend for nearly as long. We bonded over pizza, Fred Barnett, Deltron 3030, our Nike LunarTerra Arktos boots and most recently, fatherhood. He was just the BEST, and utterly irreplaceable.