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Hep Me. Hep. Me.
You know how, every night when you’re asleep, there’s the possibility that a mouse will crawl down your throat and suck the very breaf out of your body? Now imagine a critter that’s 23 times as big as a mouse, one that doesn’t restrict itself to the obvious throatal orifice. Picture Big Evil with…
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Thursday Night Live
“Thursday Night Live” Had it not been for the two drinks in July rum/ginger ale/lime concoctions (aka the “Dark ‘N Stormy”) Downed before my pal Jim over for dinner that night–crispy pork bits on rice Said, “So some of us were talking” a gaggle of clackers at the college “And we think you’d be a…
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Shameless Plug
No, not like the ones on Elton John’s head. This is a different kind of plug. There’s a new online humor magazine that just launched its first issue this week. It’s called the Clay Pigeon, and its puppetmaster is Diesel over at the Mattress Police, head puppet designer is Joel Bezaire from Crummy Church…
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Mama’s Best Advice: “Do It Naked”
My mom gifted me with lots of things in my youth: flute lessons, bassoon lessons, piano lessons, ballet lessons, the old Nissan Stanza, her recipe for beef stroganoff, a deep loathing of my body, a fondness for the ocean. Human nature being what it is, however, I’ve also decided that my parenting should compensate for…
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Uno, Deux, Trois, Cinq, Sept
Over the course of my adolescence, our family hosted seven French students for “a delightful summer abroad.” They would get on a plane in Paris and fly to Montana where they would disembark, their necks wrapped in scarves, their mouths smoking Gaulloises. Then, with a slow exhale, they would stare, in shock, at the…
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My Funny Valentine
Dear Bicycle Commuter Rocketing Off the Trail by Crosley Street at Dusk: You will never know how close you came to a kismetical meeting with the Love of Your Life tonight. That unmet L.o.Y.L.? Me. So focused were you on getting home after a long day at the–what?–H & R Block that you didn’t even…
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Three a.m.: The Onamotapeiac Hour
A thump. A creak. A scratch. A splat. Then the whisk of our duvet being flung open as Groom garbled, “Whaat und whooo huh? Fonzi hug me? Is someone there? Someone? Did someone just vomit in the hall?” By the end of that string of kerflabble, I had been yanked from blissful black to…
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All of Y’all Need to Eat More Whole Grains. ‘Ceptin’ the Poor ‘Uns. You’re Good.
“Wait! What’s that?” asked seven-year-old Girl, catching a glimpse of the email I had opened on the computer tonight. “It’s just a message someone sent. But it’s time for bed; go choose your book, and then we’ll brush teeth,” I responded, ever task-minded at 8 p.m. I get profoundly more task-minded when my husband has…
