A writing prompt, after a fashion

I saw someone very special the other day. It was someone I only see once every six or seven years, apparently. She is lovely and it never seems like any time has gone by when we do see each other, and I think this is part of the reason why:

Well. Not this exactly. But stuff like this.

After an awesome backwards dinner (we had dessert first), we strolled back to my car and spotted this, um, tableau in a shop window. We then proceeded to riff off of it for a good ten, fifteen minutes. It’s nice to find people like that with whom you can do such things.

We came up with a number of possibilities. (If you can’t really see it, the scary-looking devil-child is holding a set of antlers behind his–its?–back.) The horse is actually an old rocking horse, and it has a hole through its neck where, presumably, the reins used to go.

The various scenarios we came up with:

“Hello horsie. Would you like something sweet?”

“Well. I have these fine antlers. But I really would like it better if you were a unicorn, so…here.”

“Ah. I see. The hole in your neck. Here’s something to plug it with.”

“My Frankenhorse is almost complete. I have shed the barnacles of my childhood by making a mere plastic rocking horse into a carousel horse. Now it remains only to unicornize it. Oops. I did not mean to de-antler that buck on the way here.”

Now it’s your turn. What do you think is going on here? My totally subjective choice of winner gets a bag of Swedish fish mailed to them. I’ll try to make it the multi-colored ones, but you’ll get standard red if that’s all I can find.

“Submissions” close December 31.

Special thanks to Shey, my once-every-seven-years friend, for making this happen. Hopefully we’ll see more of each other now!



Writer, editor, general crazy-pants.

Reasons to run in the morning

1. Less smog
2. Fewer people
2a. Fewer cranky old men telling you your heeling hound needs to be on a leash.
2b. Fewer attack chihuahuas miraculously untethered from their people. Yes, really.
3. Better companion-hound activity
3a. Less need to stop for poops
3b. Too sleepy to want to stop and smell everything.
4. Southern California in the mornings smells like eucalyptus, pepper trees, sage, rosemary, thyme. Yes, really.
5. Pizza for breakfast
6. Coffee is so much more of a reward
7. The morning version of the gloaming
Here, have a gratuitous Sprocket photo.

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Writer, editor, general crazy-pants.

Long overdue

Oh, man. The past couple of months have been a terrible whirlwind of Stuff.

First there was the realization that we are moving. Then there was the trip to Blighty. And now here we are, the day before our move day. I’m not entirely sure how to fill the ensuing space. There was so much going on.

Of course I’m shattered by the idea of leaving New York, but it had to be done: my parents are getting older, and Jim got a really lovely job close enough to them. So we’ll be moving to just down the street from them, and it will be good, if only for the reason that Jim really loves his new gig.

New York is the only place I’ve really ever felt at home. I love everything about the northeast and I will miss it terribly. I feel like I’ve been swaddled in cotton wool, though–with the big trip to England to re-up my ShelterBox training and a bunch of work surrounding the actual move (I’m teaching a webinar on social media tonight), I’ve been largely insulated from the move. So instead of the sharp pangs I had upon each of my previous moves, I’ve been experiencing sort of dull, constant echoey ache that presents itself at the most inopportune of moments.

It’s doubly hard that Jim isn’t here. He’ll be back tomorrow to help with the move, and to co-host the big party we have planned. The fact that he’s so excited makes it a little bit easier, I guess.

Am I ready to leave? No. But I was having a conversation with someone recently, and it occurred to me that you oughtn’t really even attempt to go home again until you’ve crossed a certain threshold in your own life. That is, it’s best for you to attempt a life of your own before you move to within striking distance of your childhood home.

Do I, at least, feel like I’ve done that?

Well. Yes.



Writer, editor, general crazy-pants.

I talk to one of my favorite authors

The LA Review has my essay, “Communiques to Mr. Lee Child,” up on its web site. Go look here, and see what I think of his character, Jack Reacher, and why I love Mr. Child’s work.
And okay, maybe what I think of Tom Cruise, too.

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Writer, editor, general crazy-pants.

Homage to the Weekend, in three parts

Part I: The Race That Was Not (A Race)

To Whom It May Concern,

This weekend I participated in your Rebel Race. A friend encouraged me to “Escape the Weakday”–GREAT slogan!–and be a rebel. I must also admit that I was drawn to the idea of a lot of mud, an obstacle course (I have been lifting, after all), and the free beer that came with the entry fee ($60). I am also a sucker for trail running.

Now, let’s talk about the six ginormous bottlenecks that took place over the 5K course: One at race’s beginning, one almost immediately after the race start, and the four that were peppered over the rest of the mileage.

You promised me a race and a free T-shirt and a free beer. $60 for a 5K race is about $20 per mile. I figure I did not get to race for about a half-mile. Also, I did not drink your free beer because it was a Bud Light and I am almost 100% sure that is not actually beer.

Plus I had to pay $10 to park. All told, I figure you owe me about $18 (Bud Light being $5 at a bar, tops). But I bought the race with a Groupon, so you really only owe me about $9. Please donate that amount to a real race.

Thank you sincerely, however, for the opportunity to spend the day with friends.


Part II: Hideous Clearing Out

Lara and Peter and I have challenged each other to give away, sell, recycle, or discard one item a day for the next three months or so. (I think that’s right. Guys, weigh in if I’m wrong.) This is because we are pack rats and need a little help from our friends.

I got a little excited and stated eBaying stuff the week before Lara got back from her trip, which is cheating. But here is what I have given away (or have listed for sale on eBay) since the Monday we started, which is the 16th, a full week ago.

  •  Rollabind/Circa punch: I have had this thing since 2010 and I have never gotten the hang of the Circa system. I believe this is solidly because I am just not that organized.
  • Levenger Junior notebook: I know, this is in the same listing as the punch, but I am giving it to myself as an item because damnit, I can.
  • A big stack of books: To my neighbor Kathlyn, who loves to read and who is a librarian.
  • A big pile of nail polish: Lots of mini-bottles whose colors weren’t right for me. I freecycled these. 
  • A spice rack with glass jars: Jim bought this for me ages ago when we were first living together IN TWO THOUSAND TWO OMG because he knew I liked to entertain, but it was prelabeled and we no longer see the point of buying spices only to re-fill existing jars.
  • Some half-empty bottles of facial lotion: My cabinet was a wreck before, cos sometimes you buy things like facial lotion and you think they’ll work, and they end up not working at all, or causing gigantic blemishes. Anyway, this was my cabinet before: And this is after:
Okay, so I’m a couple of items behind. Yargh. I have already sold FOUR pairs of shoes on eBay! So THERE! Gack! And given away something like 12 T-shirts!
Meh. This paring-down stuff is hard. And oh shite I just realized I will be gone for nearly a month all told between August and September, so I’d better start counting every book and every T-shirt. What? No? Is that against the rules?
Part III: A Short Trip to the Airport
In reality, it was not a short trip at all. First we stopped at the deli to pick up a sushi lunch that we could all enjoy. Then we were stuck in traffic. Then Mr. Gooddirt got angry at the &$*(! driver in front of us. Finally we got to the airport, and wandered around looking for stuff and guessing at where we should be, until I fielded a phone call:
“Hi, Dad.”
“We are at Terminal 3, check-in.”
More wandering. Then another phone call.
“I did not mean what I said before. We are at Terminal 3, east side, ticketing, door CRACKLE FUZZ FRIZZITY BLOOP.”
More wandering. Then asking of harried airport employee. Then finally, playing a hunch and looking outside, there were my parents, fresh off a flight and onto a four-hour layover at our worst airport.
Then there was looking at vacation photos and sharing of sushi lunch and complaining about one’s daughter’s haircut, and then an hour and a half later, two hugs from each of them for each of us goodbye, and then swatting of Mr. Gooddirt by mother, just for good measure, and then off they went, two figures smaller then I actually remember them, through the security gate and away for their flight back to California.




Writer, editor, general crazy-pants.

A Phone Conversation

Me: Hello?
Mr. Gooddirt: Hi. I just thought I’d tell you that I qualify for extra life insurance.
Me: That’s fantastic! Congratulations! They approved you even with the extra layer of pudge around your waist from our trip to Taiwan?
Mr. Gooddirt: Yes. Especially because of the extra layer. They said it would protect me from impact injuries.


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Writer, editor, general crazy-pants.

A brief intermission and a public announcement

Aside from the basics off eating breathing, drinking water, I’ve never done anything for 30 days straight. Not in my recent memory, anyway, and not anything that I’ve known would be good for me. Maybe in my angsty college years I kept a daily diary for 30 days straight, but that’s hardly a challenge when you’re angsty all the time.
So, inspired by an acquaintance and a fellow writer, I’m challenging myself to do a few things over the next month, the next 30 days. They are things that have eluded me, and although I’m not up to challenging myself to doing something every day for a year, like the kid in Brenda’s story did, I think I can manage a scant month’s worth of time. And who knows? Maybe that month will lead to a year. But let’s not get ahead of myself. Here’s my list. I invite you all to either check in with me or make up a list of your own. Leave your lists in the comments below, if you like.

1. I will go the gym or do something physically strenuous every single day.
2. I will write a diary entry in longhand every day. It only has to be a page, but it can be more than that.
3. I will start each day with a glass of water.
4. I will make our bed each morning.
5. I will read at least the headlines of the first section of the newspaper that arrives each morning at my door and often goes straight to the recycling bin.

Okay, that’s my list. Now I’ve told you all, and I have no excuses, really. Some of these things are so simple! Who knows? Maybe this will be the start of something great.


Writer, editor, general crazy-pants.

I think I have survived

What is there to survive, you want to know? None of it was bad. It was all very good. But it was completely and totally draining. If I were the type to keep scrapbooks, I’d now be staring at a pile of ticket stubs, napkins, photos and things to paste into said imaginary scrapbook. But I’m not, so here’s a digital photo dump.

Monday the 10th our good friend Audrey came into New York for the evening, and Jim and I went down to see her by train. At the Hawthorne station, I spotted these awesome steelworks. There’s a whole series of them, from hobos to women waiting at the station for people to come in on the train.

We had some lovely sushi in midtown. It was so nice to see her.

I miss Audrey. We used to see her a lot, and w are only lucky that she comes into New York quite a bit for business. Otherwise, the distance between Chicago and New York would seem a lot bigger.

The following Thursday morning, I went for my first jog with a group in forever. But the group didn’t show up. So I slogged around on the Bronx River pathway for a little half an hour, and then I went home and prepped for my morning meeting in Irvington, New York, where I was reminded of how much I like the river towns and their sharp slope downwards to the Hudson River.

You can just see the Tappan Zee bridge in this photo. I liked living there, back in the mid-90s.

Later that day, my friend Nic, another ShelterBox Response Team member, came to visit me. It was Nic’s first time in New York, and after being stuck in traffic for sometime, we finally got back to my place and hot-footed it down to the Big Bad in time for Nic’s hair appointment with an acquaintance of mine. I had a pedicure in the meantime. (I am shocked, by the way, to realize that almost a month later, they still look pretty good.)

Spotted this building advert on the way over.

Later we went to see a friend of Nic’s art exhibit. It is art of the type I call stupid good: You don’t have to know anything about art to know it’s just damned good work. Damien Hirst bought two of the ones on exhibit, and although I’m not one for picked cows, I do trust the man has good taste in art.

We’d met Robert and his girlfriend Sarah at the exhibit, and then we went off to get Nic some good old-fashioned eats at Katz’s Deli. Yum.

Good haircut, right?

Nic was with us for a week. It was really nice, and pretty whirlwind, but it was immediately comfortable–Nic just sort of fit into our daily routines. She could have stayed for months and we’d not have cared one iota.

We took her to part of the Appalachian trail and the woods by us and in general had a great time. The day after Nic left, my parents dropped in.

We took them all over, too, and Dad took a bunch of pictures, but I’m convinced they’re all still on his camera. He still has photos on there from my brother’s wedding. That was at the end of January. Storage cards are a bad thing for some people.

My mom wanted to go to Bergdorf’s. I took her. We saw these. I want some.

They are salt and pepper shakers. More important, they are eggs with legs on them. Most important, they are hilarious.

We took them to Rhode Island. They liked it. I liked that my mom has always wanted to go there and never has been, and now she can say she did that.

My parents were in town for a week. Two days after they left we drove to Rhode Island again, for a wedding. But this trip was far more casual. We spent Sunday at Bluff Point, which is probably one of the prettiest places int he world. I could totally live there, maybe in this house:

Sprocket was happy, too:

And we saw lots of gorgeous flora:

Actually, all of these photos were taken at Hadley Farm, neighboring Bluff Point.

And then later we did actually go over to Bluff Point, which is a state park and at which you can mountain bike, ride horseback, stroll and swim if you’d like.

And fish, obviously. I like this picture. It has a Winslow Homer quality to it. But of course I flatter myself.

I love the fractal quality of these ferns. So pretty!

If you’re wondering why I’m taking photos of what looks like  a plain old gnarly root system, it’s because not three minutes earlier I watched a little girl, no more than 8 years old and wearing Crocs, kick ass down this section of trail. She just rode it, like it was nothing. So cool.

Here we are at Bluff Point. It was a nice day.

Later on that evening we went back to Narragansett, not far from where we’d taken my parents to see the Newport mansions, for my friend Tom’s wedding.

As usual, my head is enormous. But the dress, which I bought at a second-hand store in Pittsburgh, actually turned out OK. I had it taken up a bit. For $45 plus the $25 for the alteration, it was a steal. And I’ve always wanted a vintage cocktail dress…this one is from the 50s and has these stiff sized panels at the hips to give me more shape.

It was a really awesome wedding. Tom is Jewish and Sabrina is Brazilian, so their huppah was constructed of branches Tom had found after a windstorm in Central Park and a beautiful tropical cloth. It was adorned with tropical flowers. Gorgeous. Their declaration of intent was Buddhist, we recited a Shinto prayer of happiness, and their song choice was “Time After Time,” performed by two of their friends. Way cool. And we met some really nice people.

We drove home the next day and plowed through the workweek, and then we went to York, PA yesterday for one more wedding.

York is an interesting place. It clearly had had its boom time, but it’s a little downtrodden now. We stayed at the Lafayette Club, and that was interesting.

The portraits you see lining the walls are all of presidents.

The building itself is awesome. Definitely a little run down, but the historical details were fabulous. The price was right and the location–across the street from the reception site–was terrific.

Perhaps the best detail of all, though, was the old communication system.

It looks very muppet-like.


Anyway. That is why I am tired. Now I am sitting here in my living room, realizing that I really must commit to more blog posts so things like this photo dump don’t happen again. My fingers are tired. I have bored you for 1150 words. I must stop.

‘Til next time,

Your friendly local airhead


Writer, editor, general crazy-pants.