Visions of Bill Murray danced through my head this morning as the resumption of now-familiar drilling and clanging noises kicked off day three of pier-digging.* If things are less cacophonous tomorrow, I might be able to finish my next movie review, but since there was no peace in the valley today this is the best […]
After the fourth or fifth time I woke up coughing and gagging last night, still too congested to breathe, I glanced at my watch. It was only 11 pm and Crankenstein hadn’t yet stirred, but I didn’t want to risk disturbing her overnight when she had clinic in the morning. Gathering my pillow, water and
I’m on day five or six of what Crankenstein believes is an upper respiratory infection. Last night was the most annoying yet — despite OTC meds, I was coughing, wheezing, choking and sputtering, partly because my neck’s still impeding my ability to swallow. I couldn’t sleep, she couldn’t sleep, and we knew this morning was
Hacking, Choking and Excavation Read More »
Early on New Year’s Eve Day, 2021, my best friend jokingly asked “Are Muriel and Crankenstein drunk yet?” I replied with a photo of Muriel licking the undersize dog bed in my office as I attempted to work. After scrutinizing some of the titles on my bookshelves, he wrote “I assume the copy of Being
When the Bells All Ring and the Horns All Blow Read More »
There are times in every relationship when you assume an ill-fitting role for the sake of your partner. Crankenstein didn’t enjoy prying a partially eaten mole carcass from the jaws of our beloved (and disgusting) dog, who ripped it from the earth right in front of us with her fangs a few years ago. But
Everybody Plays the Fool Read More »
I’ll elaborate on this later in the week, when I have more time. But for now, try to imagine me not on this puny, wildly insufficient stepladder, but scaling a regular construction ladder on the landing pictured below, straining — my left hand and leg tremoring — to reach a smoke detector at the end
On the first Christmas Eve that Crankenstein and I spent together, before she went to a midnight church service while I hung out with her cat, we stopped by my parents’ house for dinner. It was a casual, secular affair attended mostly by atheists and Jews — my parents, siblings and maternal grandma — and marked
“Why Did Women Love Jesus?” Read More »
“Suppose you listen to me for a change?… I said listen to me! I’m tired of being pushed around. Tired of being told what to do. Tired of writing your god-darned articles. Tired of dancing to everybody else’s tune. Tired of being told whom to marry. In short… I’m tired!” That Barbara Stanwyck tirade from
But It’s Not Like Christmas at All Read More »
In which I explain the fate of the Golden Girls episode guide while maligning content-scraping bots and plagiarists.
Crankcast, Vol. 8: (Unintelligible Old Man Muttering) Read More »
My mom and her sister took turns having kids in the 1980s: I was born in ’83, my brother in ’84, and cousins followed in ’85 and ’86. Together we spent our childhoods running around our grandparents’ house, with the exception of a cousin we’ll call Brandon, who rolled. Born without use of his legs
You Can Have It All Read More »