I’m re-posting a few entries from my old blog archives over the next couple of weeks.  They’ll be the ones I want to keep around and they’re important to me or say something I need to remember.  Each re-post will be clearly marked at the top. You know, I was cruisin’ the web this morning, checking out fiction markets and [...]

Accidents of birth do not come issued with free passes. When and if there’s family around my death bed, it will be family that comforts me, not the other way around.

Just this morning, right before the dive-bombing began, I heard a slight, whistling whisper. “Hey,” it seemed to say, “watch me fuck with the fat guy!”

While not plentiful, and certainly not euphoric, there are certain small contentments that come from the act of packing for a move.

So the new website, while being cool and silly and very much indicative of the kind of weirdness that rules my life, had a couple of problems.

I’m not sure when it happened, but happen it did: The world woke up one morning and decided that individuality is a bad thing.

This has to be my absolute favorite Mariners commercial of all time. It is truly weird and strange and yet, oddly, romantic. Okay, maybe not romantic. But something very close to it. Or not. Either way, I love it. I’m so glad you’re here, Brandon Morrow Bobblehead.

And you’ve been very, very patient with me. You’re all a bunch of mensches. Pat yourselves on the back.