Thursday, June 30, 2016

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

The Best Thing I Said Today.

"What? Your's looks like RuPaul?"

Monday, June 27, 2016

Sunday, June 26, 2016

Saturday, June 25, 2016

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Monday, June 20, 2016

Sunday, June 19, 2016

Saturday, June 18, 2016

Friday, June 17, 2016

Thursday, June 16, 2016

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

The Best Thing I Said Today.*

"I was raised to be a Sandy... but I'm a Rizzo."

*Special guest star edition!

Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Monday, June 13, 2016

Crash.

One was a grimace of gnarled, stained metal.

Nothing could have survived.

Then a few rows of the less damaged, most with perfect, eight-inch holes in the windshields.  Holes wide enough to fit a cantaloupe through.

Rain trickled down my nose; dripped down to my lips.  I could taste hair gel and salt in the drops.  I couldn’t hear anything but the pitter-patter of rain splashing softly in rusty puddles.

I got my car back, eventually.

I spent six months visiting doctors… another seventeen alone.

She called me once, over the summer.

Her voice purred on my machine, whispered over and over:

“Te amo… te amo… te amo….”

But I know what that’s all about.

Sunday, June 12, 2016

Saturday, June 11, 2016

The Best Thing I Said Today.

"Seriously, how bad would it be if I ate this? Like Trump bad? Or 'Showgirls' bad?"

Wednesday, June 08, 2016

WTCaesar?


Okay, look: I've loved Coen brothers movies since they did tracking shots over passed-out bar patrons... and I love a weird, unexpected movie as much as the next guy... but seriously, WTF Joel & Ethan? I'm confused and scared... and I have a feeling that in ten years or so I'll be watching "Hail, Caesar" as often as I watch "Glengarry Glen Ross." Which is to say, constantly. Keep closing, Coens... keeeeeep closing.

Tuesday, June 07, 2016

Saturday, June 04, 2016

Sharc...

I drove for hours and hours.  I decided I’d never tell a living soul what happened, not even my best friend.  I’d never tell anyone.

Then, the car crash.

A cop picked me up at a little diner.

I called him from a payphone outside the gas station, then I had called my sister and left her a message.

In the diner, all those stupid people looking at me, wondering if I was a criminal.

In the cop’s car, there were no door handles in the back. 

The cop told me stories as he drove; told me I was lucky to be alive.

And I was.

At the police station, standing in line for hours… cold coffee in a styrofoam cup; the dull thud of waiting.

The car graveyard.  Rows and rows of twisted and mangled machines lined-up in order of severities.

One had been torn inside-out.

One looked like it had been scooped-up with a giant spatula.

One was crushed and bent up to the sky like a sculpture.

Friday, June 03, 2016

Thanks To You, We Could Be.

Rest in well-earned peace, Muhammad Ali.

Thursday, June 02, 2016

Ahsrc...

She got on the phone and started talking to somebody in Spanish.  I could make out the pitch and inflections of the voice on the other end.  It was a man’s voice, also Spanish.  Not her brother, either. 

She was doing a good job;  she chose words which weren’t obvious.  But Spanish is like French, you know.  Even big words, carefully chosen, sound the same.

I’m not that dumb, you know.  I’m just a slab of meat, sitting on the edge of a bed with a stone face.

She hung-up the phone.

“Sorry, that was a friend. I had to call him.

“He’s upset.

“You understand.”

“Sure I do… let’s go to sleep, I’m tired.”

I was gone before she was awake.

I put the room charges on my Visa; the call had been local.

I got in my car, turned on the heater, and chugged coffee.  I beat the morning traffic by over an hour. 

Wednesday, June 01, 2016