It’s a little maddening, having a bird outside my window who mimics the chirp of my front door alarm.
I won’t let my plum tree go without a fight.
Summer’s here and the time is right to be bitchin’ ’bout the heat.
I’m not sure whether my childhood infatuation with flying things is nature, nurture, or both.
Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life, but it’s not a bad recipe for a weekend.
A recent Atlantic Monthly article suggesting that humans domesticated themselves by killing off the violent males in their midst sparked a short story idea.
So what do I do now that I’ve finished reading six feet of history?
Art about art is often a bit too self-referential, like the Escher drawing of a hand drawing a hand that is drawing the hand that is…you get the picture.
Here’s a playlist I’ve always wanted to make.
My Dating Game story didn’t turn out as good as I hoped, but that’s okay.