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Out! Did I forget to mention it? I believe so. The manager of our apartment complex is out! Out! Possibly tens of thousands of dollars of embezzling. The owners, of course, aren’t going to press charges. It must have been that last communique. Which one? Oh, the one that said that she was going to […]

Snippet: Tofu Cartel! What with one thing and another (a couple of freshman girls from Miller drove over and bought one of the new tarot decks she’d ordered, not Rider Waite, not Thoth, the one with the cats? No, the Medicine Wheel deck. And the orange juice machine broke during breakfast. An earring down the

Review.Bag of Bones, Stephen King, or “Rosebud.” This here review comes both with and without spoilers. Non-spoileriffic: King is the master of page-turners. Even the most mundane events make you flip…flip…flip…until it’s much too late to think of doing anything other than flip…flip…flip. Not one of his best books. Read It or The Shining or

If He Would Tell Me Is it really allergies or is it something worse? Did I tell you the story about his thumb? Last year he — I don’t know, he hit his thumb with a hammer, something, and gave himself a blood blister under his right thumbnail. He’s left handed, by the way. Anyway,

The End of Mrs. Kurtz. (I’m going to go back, pick through things, and put up the whole thing later. Promise.) “What would it take to rectify this situation for you, Mrs. Kurtz? The employee who spoke to you earlier–” “Scott.” “Yes, Scott, is going to undergo disciplinary action.” “How does that make up for

Update My folks have been in town, just left this morning. They’re on the road to Rapid City with two teenage daughters, 89% of their sanity, and some cute bebe pictures in their cameras. It was good to see them, some health worries (one of the girls is allergic to pine trees, and my father

Snippet: Games Don’t you hate it when the end of the story is, “And then he woke up”? Or “it was all just a game”? “Everything Trellafan thought of as reality was just a game. Yes, he was just a damn tenth-level half-elf, living on the edge, in some stupid computer game designed by post-pubescent

The Friday Nite Game Lee bragged up my write-up of the game over the Starwars Mush (Unsung Heroes), so I guess I better finish it soon, just in case someone’s reading. Yes, there are little changes. I have memory lapses, lapses when the bebe was dragging me around the house, and the demands of fiction

Woo Hoo! Ok, so here’s what I’m going to do. First, I’m going to acquire a book. Then, I’m going to read it. Next, I’ll write down what I think about it. Finally, I’m going to be paid…ONE MILLION DOLLARS! Hahahahaha! Phew. Sorry about that lapse, there. Actually, I’m not going to get paid. But

Hula dance volunteers? Guess what I spent 45 minutes doing Thursday morning and getting paid for it? Writing (cough) poetry. Bad poetry. Doggerel. For the usual somewhat-humilitating, always-pointless, ubiquitous, the-big-boss-is-coming greeting skit. The management of our inestimable department, however, picked moi for the task of writing the stuff. Obviously they have more taste than your