If I don’t jump off the McCheese hamster wheel tonight, I’m not sure it’ll happen again this month, so here we are.* My writing time this evening was spent working on a review that remains unfinished, like almost everything else in my life lately. The problem isn’t depression, if anyone’s worried about that — the […]

We were again woken up at 4 am by street noise, but there wasn’t a coked-up deliveryman doing his best Sonja Henie in a balaclava this time around: the disturbance was caused by a plow that a neighbor apparently hired to clear her driveway. Four hours later, tired and exasperated, we were at the grocery

The ZzzQuil I fantasized about on this very site last night sure would’ve come in handy just a few short hours later, when a ruckus on the street below roused me from a fragile sleep. Normally I would’ve assumed it was the fence-waterer next door being a drunken jackass, which is a common weekend occurrence.

I’m speechless tonight as we watch CNN’s wildfire coverage and worried about everyone, including friends and loved ones, in Los Angeles. A relative who is not yet under evacuation orders sent a screenshot earlier of a map with her location and those of the wildfires multiplying around her; other friends have left California in recent

Where’s Mrs. Garrett when you need her? We’ve been visited by a winter storm named Blair — traveling solo, nary a Natalie, Jo, or Tootie in sight — and are digging out from under a heckuva lot of snow and ice. I’ve been manning the blower and also spent cumulative hours clearing ice from our

There was a rare but embarrassing tech glitch here on Saturday night. What started as a McCheese entry became “A House and Its Head,” at which time I unstickied this thread and deleted the (incomplete) 1/4/25 entry. But then there was a cache error and the previous McCheese draft remained stickied and was served instead

This won’t be edited until Sunday morning. There’s a little laundry left to do tomorrow and a few more basement windows to insulate before the temperature plunges, but we’re close to winter-storm ready. What I wasn’t prepared for was the toll this week took on me physically and emotionally — and I’m not talking about

In last year’s New Year’s Eve post, I hopscotched through time and imagined what I’d tell my loved ones (and myself) if we were granted New Year’s do-overs. There’s undoubtedly newer, more relevant advice that I’d richly benefit from right now, but it’s only with hindsight that I’ll know what the hell it was, I

If anyone would like to join me in recreating the “Love Shack” video, please read the following in your best Fred Schneider voice and hop into my sweet new ride: “I got me a car(t), it seats about twenty, so come on/And bring your jukebox money.” This sporty import boasts plenty of cargo space and

“Jeez, where’d you get that bruise?!” Crankenstein asked as I stood before her in a t-shirt this morning, yawning and stretching. “You’re going to have to be more specific,” I answered semi-unintelligibly, still yawning. “Your arm!” “They’re both bruised and so’s this shoulder,” I said, poking my shirt. “The big honkin’ one over there,” she