8824 NE Russell St.
Portland OR 97220

Black Lamb


Now in its 14th year of publication, this magazine was created to offer the discerning reader a stimulating selection of excellent original writing. Black Lamb Review is a literate rather than a literary publication. Regular columns by writers in a variety of geographic locations and vocations are supplemented by features, reviews, articles on books and authors, and a selection of “departments,” including an acerbic advice column and a lamb recipe.


Black Lamb welcomes submissions from new writers. Email us.


If you have questions or comments regarding Black Lamb, please email us.

Archive for the 'Ferrandino' Category

No segue

I'm happy to wake up alive every day.

April 1st, 2012

The All-Medicine Issue


Most of the major transitions in my life have been, if not seamless, at least gradual: from toddler to little kid to teenager and all the way into middle age. Some changes were a bit abrupt: college cocoon to “real” world, drinker to non-drinker, not-dad to dad, but overall the process of life seemed to roll along without quantum leaps or falls.

My merry little apple-cart was dumped in July of 2011. There I was, an active middle-aged guy playing full-court hoops, jogging, pumping iron, cutting firewood, swinging a maul, and doing a lot of “etcetera” when, suddenly… Bam! Heart attack!

Just three days later I’m an old man shuffling out of a hospital and my wife has to drive me home. Instead of popping a couple of preemptive Advil tablets before going for a run, I stand in the kitchen and scratch my head as I try to remember if I already took my umpteen unpronounceable meds that morning.

Read the rest of this entry »

Posted by: The Editors
Category: All Medicine Issue, Ferrandino | Link to this Entry

How hot was it?

May 1st, 2007


Setting for tragedy:
South Florida Fairground
West Palm Beach
Most of January, 2007

And the question is when, oh when, will this bleeping show ever end? Is that possibly a speck of light at the end of this almost forever tunnel?

It has been a demoralizing seventeen-day eternity, an energy-sapping, bankroll-depleting, brain-sucking disaster. Not just a garden variety, never-to-repeat, “rear-view-mirror” weekend show, a plentiful type in any forty-four-show year, but, like a hundred-year storm, one for the ages. The “Flood of Ought-seven,” or “Plague,” or “Famine,” maybe a “Drought.” Pick your curse.

Read the rest of this entry »

Posted by: The Editors
Category: Ferrandino | Link to this Entry

I do, I did, I will

April 1st, 2007


Marriage is the commingling of ingredients in a spaghetti sauce.
The End

handsclasped.jpgJust in case our assignment was about the other kind of “marriage,” the “people” kind, I did jot down a few notes about that as well.

Marriage, as we all know, yet are constantly reminded of anyway, is a holy, or civil, or ungodly union of a man and/or a woman and/or another man and/or another woman, or maybe it’s the other way around. I tell you, I have a lot less trouble figuring out the spaghetti sauce. Anyway, I’m pretty sure it has to do with consenting adults over the age of eighteen, or maybe twenty-one, though it could be much different in countries frequented by National Geographic reporters or Jerry Lee Lewis.

I am hesitant to expound upon this most delicate subject without first consulting renowned experts in the field. My research and travel budgets are somewhat limited, so I consider myself extremely fortunate to have two such experts right in my own house. Who’da thunk it?

Read the rest of this entry »

Posted by: The Editors
Category: All Marriage Issue, Ferrandino | Link to this Entry

You say tomato, I say…

... but you may have a point there

March 1st, 2007


My wife, Deborah, says she has “nigglings”. Webster’s says she has “inklings.” “Nigglings” is her definition for the intuitive flashes she has that rule my life. When I’m making the call (and remembering that I’m married), the home team, i.e. Deborah, has a decided edge.

I know what she means, while the technically correct Team Webster, outfitted in 2,000-plus pages of italics, footnotes, abbreviations, racing stripes, designer logo-wear, and accent marks, not only gets the short end of this particular stick, but can also be banished to a musty closet. (I’ve spent time in that closet; trust me when I say it’s not Cozumel.)

Read the rest of this entry »

Posted by: The Editors
Category: Ferrandino | Link to this Entry

As far away as today

November 1st, 2006


To the junkies and lushheads in two-bit scratchpads,
And the flophouse grads in morgue iceboxes,

—Mezz Mezzrow, Really The Blues

You know when I drink alone,
I prefer to be by myself.

—George Thorogood

I was no pinky-lifting drinking dilettante, no sloe gin, no umbrella drinks, and nothing in a coconut, thank you very much. I was the real deal. Bombay, yes, Frangelica, no. Oh, I had smokes, and I had other smokes, and more than enough in the way of powders and pills to fuel a run at the Presidency, and I inhaled everything, but it was Drink that ran the show, and Drink that pimped me for a big chunk of the twentieth century.

Read the rest of this entry »

Posted by: The Editors
Category: All Smoking & Drinking Issue, Ferrandino | Link to this Entry

The dumbing down of Ferrandino

March 1st, 2006

tvcigarette.jpgBY ROD FERRANDINO

TV, telly, Boob Tube, television. It doesn’t matter what you call it; you smoke it, you get high. Oops, there I go again, mixing up Tee Vee with the other massive opiates. Some of that’s for another column. For present purposes I’ll confine myself to plumbing the intellectual depths of television programming vis-à-vis in re as per de facto development of a cerebral leprechaun, i.e. yours truly.

As well we know, he stated pompously, television is no more than junk food for the brain, a vapid, calorie-empty, sugar-laden waste of time, a cranial void, and unsuitable for anybody with even a double-digit I.Q.

Read the rest of this entry »

Posted by: The Editors
Category: All Television Issue, Ferrandino | Link to this Entry

Author profile

December 1st, 2002

Rod Ferrandino is an unpaid professional husband and father. He is constantly hectored, pestered, and bossed around by his spouse, daughter, and pets, and loves every minute of it. He lives outside of Lexington, Va., in the Shenandoah Valley, in a shabbily elegant antebellum plantation house surrounded by 300 acres (not his) full of bovine spot-fertilizers. His Black Lamb column is called Cracked Windshield.

Posted by: The Editors
Category: Ferrandino | Link to this Entry


  • Blogroll