Ins and outs, ups and downs. Out: Name of the Feather, by yours truly, to Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. In: Things You Don’t Want… from Wierd Tales, with a subtle put-down “so what’s the point” letter. Since Lee passed Things You Don’t Want as wierd-but-good, I’ll take the rejection as being a) too literary or […]

Btw The joke last week, as donated by a co-worker, was: “Why was the ink blot crying?” “Because his mom was in the pen and he didn’t know how long the sentence was.”

The Horns of a Dilemma, or, Chew through the Damn Rope and Break into the Hay Barn So Ray’s walking around in the kitchen, spots a loose goldfish cracker, and shoves it in her mouth, not noticing that I’m offering her a piece of yogurt bar at the same time. She looks up. Puh! Out

Project. Why? I don’t know. It’s just one of those things, you wake up and you know. I had a dream that I was cross-stitching a nudie picture. I haven’t cross-stitched in over a decade, I guess. Nevertheless. The’s an ant crawling over my pen box. Why is there an ant crawling over my pen

Anniversary redux. Familiarity breeds. Content. (No, I’m still on depo.)

Review. Anthem, Ayn Rand. Given a choice between Anthem and Atlas Shrugged, which would you pick? I know, I know, I make the same choices when it comes to Bartleby the Scrivner and Moby Dick, and Finnegan’s Wake and Ulysses. I read the slim volume that isn’t the masterpiece. And in some cases I’m probably

New toofer. Ray’s working on a new tooth. It must hurt worse than the other ones did — what a grouch! (I catch myself thinking that from time to time and have to laugh. Grouch? Ray? At her worst all you need to do is pick her up and snuggle. Or dance a little. Or

Feel good. I’ve been meaning to send a copy of “Lanes of the Living Dead” to the tabloid the Sun, which publishes short, pulp-type stories. Submit and go forth! I got the address from a friend of mine at work, but it was the address to a similarly-titled magazine. Luckily I checked out the website

Joke of the Week. Every week, I put a joke in the dept. newsletter. They have been bad and worse. I feel no shame in stealing Lee’s jokes, either. Last Monday’s: What do you call a big group of short elves with a terrible disease? … … … …A Leper-con.

Anniversary. So, yesterday Lee looks me deeply in the eyes (OUCH!) and says, “Uh, did we pass our anniversary?” I said, “You know what, I think it’s tomorrow.” “How long has it been, three years?” “There’s that thing on the wall that says ’98. Four years.” “Four years? That’s kind of scary.” “Well, we’ve been