Voice Mail Archives

Holy get me the fuck out of here.

Live blogging the Yankees game!

If you don't already know, I also write at this group site over at a place called Teatro Triste del Clown. It's kind of new, but is populated by some pretty awesome people who get paid to tell lies for a living -- and then there's the rest of us, who just lie because it's fun.

So clearly, work is a whirling, sucking vortex set out to eat my brains.

Yesterday a friend of mine who visits this blog regularly but NEVER COMMENTS came by with a gift. He has a lovely ivy plant in his apartment that I have always admired, and he gave me a meticulously grafted and lovingly potted daughter plant.

Sometimes it's hard to believe I used to cook for a living.

So apparently Zeus or Posieden or Thor or whoever is in charge these days has had enough of this Boston Marathon nonsense, and has sent a storm to sweep all those overzealous fitness freaks into the wine-dark sea. To celebrate, Cape Cod is planning on turning out all the lights, shutting off the heat, and getting on each others' nerves by candlelight.

Live blogging the Yankees game! For no good reason!

When I was in college I dated a girl, T., who would read while walking around the house, her nose literally in a book as she drifted from room to room, occasionally reaching a hand out to find a wall or an open doorway. I found this almost as endearing as I found her pale green eyes.