The town where I live is not a big town. Neither is it a bump and a burp in the road. It is quite walkable, which I like to do whenever possible. You only ever get the true measure of a city by walking it all over.
June 16, 2013
He keeps trying to negotiate with Fate, but she won’t return his calls. Does he even believe in her besides? Karma, more like it, which is, you know, something else entirely. He thinks, as he swirls the just-delivered cucumber-tequila, red salt-encrusted margarita, in a glass the shape of the letter ‘Y’.
June 2, 2013
Calling Ric Ocasek! Who was that female singer?! And other ongoing notes about trying to piece together Elizabeth/George’s life through a haze of 30-year-old memories and often incomplete details.
May 29, 2013
The city lulls. A woman sings passionately on the restaurant stereo, her voice an open faucet of sound above the bar, unintelligible except for this or that word you recall from Spanish high school class, which I nearly failed in college.
May 22, 2013
The well-heeled partners cruise by the brewpub window in their dark-blue sharkskin suits, or at least, suits I cannot afford. I’ve long admired their well-oiled hairdos. They must cost $500 an hour, these guys, what do I know. What do I cost?
May 17, 2013
Th challenge was to create a one-minute video that somehow communicated something that was somehow useful. I just barely made it, borrowing a few extra seconds for the credits in this Final Cut Pro X exercise, with a little juice added by The Flow.
May 17, 2013
Five photos from a life in the WestVirginiaVille hills — gold rims, where I don’t sit often enough, where I go to church, a Macintosh-face portrait of a native citizen of Digitalistan and a rusted angel overlooking the forgotten dead.
April 21, 2013
Funny songs are great. Funny songs delivered by superior performing songwriters are even better. Here’s an except from Mark Bates’ song, “Why Don’t You Wanna Go Out With Me?”, performed live recently at Third Eye Cabaret.
April 13, 2013
This is all I got. A big ole magnolia tree in a full-throated shout of Spring blossoming, a mile from my house in the village of Barboursville, W.Va. Four viewing variations, from real to less-real.