Points of View

Day 18

Sensitive child. That’s what I’ve heard about me. I’d sit on the porch, eating apple slices and watching the squirrels grab fallen acorns off the lawn, or bury them there for later. They spring from one spot to another in a series of perfectly semi-circular arcs, and then come to a stop, sniffing the air, heads darting around before bouncing away to the next spot. I’d take a sip of lemonade and watch a couple of the bushy-tailed creatures chase each other around the trunk of the big oak tree. Eventually, my gaze would settle on a squirrel, gray with tawny streaks, that sits and gnaws on an unidentifiable piece of something it holds in its tiny paws. The longer I watch, the more I focus on its delicate features: the joints in its arms, the black expressionless eyes, the teeth.

As if undressing the squirrel with my eyes, my mind starts at its teeth and peels back its skin in a rotten black slough. Paws become rigid, and curl up like dried oak leaves. The bones in those delicate joints jut through a matted mass of fur. The eyes now convey only surprise and horror. Feeling ill, I retreat back into the house, leaving the cool spring breeze behind.

In the bathroom, I lean my head against the mirror and stare down into the sink, not because I’m going to be sick, but because it beats looking at anything living. If I look at myself, I’ll only end up deconstructing my own features to match those of the squirrel, who had long ago hopped away in search of more food. If I look up now, I’ll be looking directly into my own eyes. I’ll see the fibrous sunburst of my irises not as a part of me, but just as a part–an object removed from context, ultimately flawed and perishable.

I can jump off the roof, crash my bicycle, and test the perishability of the context, but woe unto me should I focus on the minute for even a minute. Big cuts will bleed, staining clothes beyond the purview of ice and soda water, and thorns will sit in a fleshy pincushion, waiting to be plucked out, but these things are right and good. They are life itself. It’s the uneven fingernail scratching the skin–a subtle reminder that below the fragile covering are bones just awaiting a good bleaching in the sun–which makes the spine tingle and the mind spiral into oblivion.



Three Songs

The recommendations for todays post were the following:

  • Keep your hand moving. (Don’t pause to reread the line you’ve just written. That’s stalling and trying to get control of what you’re saying.)
  • Don’t cross out. (That is editing as you write. Even if you write something you didn’t mean to write, leave it.)
  • Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, grammar. (Don’t even care about staying within the margins and lines on the page.)
  • Lose control.
  • Don’t think. Don’t get logical.
  • Go for the jugular. (If something comes up in your writing that is scary or naked, dive right into it. It probably has lots of energy.)

The prompt was to choose three songs significant to you and use them for inspiration. Those songs, if not the performances shown, exemplify the writing process. They’re frenetic, weird unfiltered and dark as hell. Perhaps that’s a little more literal than I wanted to get, considering the Stones song and its brutal implications at Altamont, but screw it. They wrote that song, and to their everlasting shame hired the Angels to work security. Great plan.

It’s with a little discomfort, and perhaps irony, that I confess that these songs are comfort food to me. Yeah. Like the pork buns of music. Although, I suppose it’s not a huge surprise. Anyone who’s known be for longer than a few days knows I’m a Devo fan–unrepentant to the last. As for the other songs, they’re kind of the musical representation of where my mind wanders when it’s not focused on a pressing issue.

Actually, this whole exercise reminds me how compartmentalized my mind is. Like a big ship, I wall off bits to avoid sinking if my ego gets punctured. I’ve pumped a lot of sea water out of those compartments, because my hull is paper thin, but haven’t sunk yet. I suppose that lurking in those inner compartments is a whole gaggle of demons, but as long as they don’t bother the paying passengers during dinner hours, it’s probably fine to keep them along for the ride. And it’s sure better than letting them drive.

Meh… I didn’t particularly like this prompt.

It Happened One Day

Well, it finally happened.

I don’t know if it constitutes a sickening betrayal of principles, but I’ve finally made myself a Twitter account. Sadly enough, I’d been debating this decision for much longer than I waffled on the idea of posting a politically relevant observation a few days ago. I guess we’ll just mark this little episode as unfettered narcissism and move on, because that’s what we do now. Because that’s what Twitter is.

I had literally the entire world to choose from when picking the people (not known to me) who I’d follow first, and I picked people who think exactly the same way I do. Never mind that it’s kind of a sick thing that there’s sort of an institutionalized Following of the Celebrity when joining Twitter. But of course, why else would you join Twitter if not to hear what your favorite pop icons are doing at every waking moment? And then I move on.

Sure, I could dig deep and find tweets from people who’re about to die in a war in some far flung corner of the globe, but the fleeting nature of both cuts too deeply. I’d always thought that the superpower of being able to read people’s minds would be incredibly useful, if not a horrible curse from time to time. Ye gods! I could use Twitter so well to find out what other people really think! But screw it, I can pay attention to whichever person in the States is being super racist in public at the moment. But no–I didn’t join up to watch a squalid freak show. This is the Internet. My cup runneth over with bigger and better freak shows.

So that begs the question: why the hell did I sign up in the first place? Was it just sick curiosity, or was there a plan? Am I just hoping for that self-indulgent dopamine rush when I see a little blue circle in my inbox? Is it just a misguided attempt at real human contact? All? None?

Whatever it is, I chickened out and didn’t sign up under @BloodSharts, though now I’m kind of wishing I had. You can find me @HiDefFantasy.

60 Days of Blogging: Day 1, Writer’s Jail

I am the worst writer.

Words and structure are easy, and generally I’m better at it when I don’t try so hard. Apparently, though, I have to try a little bit harder than I have, or else nothing gets done. So now I’m in writer’s jail: 60 days of blogging about anything and, eventually, everything until something resembling a daily routine falls into place.

They say you’re not really a stand-up comedian unless you stand up and comede for a living, and so that principle probably applies to writing, as well. We’re obviously a long way off from that, but I’m looking to fulfill a dream, so maybe it’ll happen. Or maybe it won’t, and I’ll just drink my way to an early grave. We’ll see.



So, coming up in the next couple months you’ll see the following and probably more.

  • An as-of-yet untitled segment–probably about once or twice a week–about working as a customer service phone monkey.
  • Sketches, doodles, and whatnot. I got an iPad recently, and I have some interesting art software, with which I am going to try and improve my drawing skills–something else I’ve let atrophy.
  • Updates on my imminent marriage, the process of which is made somewhat complicated by my being in a foreign country.
  • A retrospective on my recent visit to Taipei, and a day-of entry on my upcoming trip back.
  • More cultural ramblings. I think I’ve learned some good lessons from the gargantuan Nerd post earlier this year, so look forward to spine-tingling conciseness.
  • And probably more of the usual, from when there was a usual.

I’m also getting serious about the theme and layout, so that may change, if I can find anything that’ll work.

30 Days of Blogging: Day 30



My 30-Day Blogging Challenge is finally over, and truthfully, both the accomplishment and the end of an obligation are two amazing Christmas gifts to myself. Before I take a much needed break, let’s look back on what I learned.

“Your Requests: Blogged” (both parts) rank in the top half of this blog’s recorded page views, and neither of them required much research. My ramblings about kung-fu and monster movies is dead last, and in the process of finding something to say, I got to revisit a lot of classics.

My most popular post, “Time Capsule,” was, by leaps and bounds, the least fun to do. It was a slog of repetitive archiving, on top of which was the rotten process of rereading breakup letters, reacquainting myself with deceased pets and relatives, and cringing as I waded through so much emotional baggage from my teenage years. Some of it was interesting, but the more I think about it, the more I just want to burn that yellow folder and never look back.

I had a journalism professor in college who implored us to follow a very specific writing style. He said that if you have something you really want to say, it’s like a cute little puppy that you want to coddle and train and sculpt into a loyal and obedient dog. His advice: “drown your puppies.” It may be fun to write and, once you get it right, there’s a chance it’ll be fun to read, but in the meantime, you’re ignoring everything else going on around you and annoying the hell out of everyone around you with your incessant cooing and coddling. Generally, this boils down to the 80-20 rule. 80% of the stuff anyone produces is going to be junk. That’s typically based on the notion that we produce the first thing that comes into our heads. One school of thought on this is if you have 100 things in your head, push past the first 80 that come to you and then start looking at the remaining ideas. It doesn’t mean that those first ideas are inherently crap; it just means that they’re easy, and what is easy is rarely good. Give those ideas time to mature, and they might become useful.

The school of thought that powered this 30-day experiment was to take those half-baked ideas and run with them. They may not be the best, but the point is not to have 30 phenomenal posts; it’s to get into a rhythm, so that when a great idea does come along, the endurance to perfect it is there.

Also, it should be noted that you shouldn’t actually drown any real puppies. What are you, a monster?

Another thing I learned is that I may need to give the blog more direction. Writing every day might have been an easier task if my ideas were all focused in one direction (travel or science fiction or philosophical musings or personal miscellany) instead of being scattered all over the spectrum. With a greater range of choices, I found it much harder to actually choose an idea and take a whole-hearted run at it.

I also simply need more time to write. I juggle writing with a day job, and trying to publish a post per day makes the quality suffer. For example, even though it ranked near the top of my page views, I think the “Guilty Pleasures” post, among others, could have been better if I’d had the time to expand, revisit, and revise (ERR). To ERR is human, and posting first drafts of everything made me feel a little like a machine. Luckily, I had some intelligent and well-read friends who were paying attention and were willing to add content in the comments field.

If I’m going to write about movies, media culture, and literature, I need time to actually consume and digest those things before writing about them. The stuff I did write about was already in my repertoire, but I felt like I used the same examples over and over *cough*StarWars*cough*. So, as I continue, I’ll be giving myself time to watch movies, read comics and books, and dig through the news again. It’s going to be awesome.

One last thing I learned is that stats and page views aren’t as important to me as I thought they’d be. They’re a half-decent indicator of what’s getting read, but with the available tools, comments field aside, there’s no real way to find out why. For all I know, the sheer number of tags on the “Time Capsule” post is what gave it 50% more views than the next most popular post from this 30-day challenge.

In a few days, after a much needed vacation, I’ll be back with something. Until then, have a happy New Year!

30 Days of Blogging: Day 20

Two-thirds done with these thirty days. Fatigue is staring to set in, but along with it has come a sense of normalcy. I’m finding it harder and harder to talk about something in a way I consider to be complete and thoughtful. Of course, most days, I’m working this around a day job, so I don’t always have the time and energy to render every topic in full high-definition.


While I was actually glad that my post on guilty pleasures prompted a little bit of follow-up, it bugged me that I wasn’t able to be as exact or touch on as many relevant issues as I’d have liked to. Overall, I think it went over pretty well.

My post on sex was fun to write, but I think I ended up being a bit too subtle, and I know I self-censored a lot. It could have been a great post, I think, but it’s hard to write honestly about sex. It occurs to me that to “know thyself” is a pretty easy thing, but much harder “to thine own self be true.” Actually, that’s a horrible cop-out because those two things are exactly the same. Turns out, I just didn’t do my due diligence and the quality suffered.

My time capsule post got a whole bunch of views, but I really think I could have spent more time on each item. I didn’t want to take another cheat day, though. I thought I’d be happier with it, since it was such a time-consuming behemoth of a task, but at the end I felt like it wasn’t nearly as interesting as I’d hoped it’d be.

As a whole, I think the Challenge is going well. I have ten more days, but when they’ve passed I think the momentum may continue. I may not post every day, though. Even professional writers get days off.

We’ll see.

Time Capsule

Since I was in high school, I have had a big, transparent yellow folder, in which I put things that have meaning to me. IMG_0750There is no particular order to what goes in. Something from 1999 could just as easily abut something else from high school as it could something from two months ago. I never intended it to be a record of my existence, but that is exactly what it became. I have never edited its contents, and only once or twice did I ever look inside, and then only briefly. Today I opened it up and, working my way from the front (visible), documented what I found. Some things I have grouped together to avoid pointless repetition.


IMG_0751When I was in graduate school in Boston, I would go to trivia nights at The Tam, a serious dive bar in the Theater District. Our team, Grandma’s Hot Friend, would compete for cash, which we would spend on the next week’s drinks. Failing a first-through-third place prize, we would angle for the special fourth-place consolation prize–usually whatever the quiz master, Al, could scrounge up from some dollar store. One night, we won a coconut ukulele. Around Christmas time one year, we won Santa hats. I listen and think better when I doodle, even if it’s on top of names of random countries and fake math.

Birthday cards

IMG_0752IMG_0754IMG_0758 IMG_0761

Birthday cards, newest to oldest, some from my parents, some from other people. The newest was for my 30th birthday, and when opened, it is supposed to play the chicken dance. Now, though, it just produces eerie hissing and clicking sounds.

Graduation tickets

IMG_0753Tickets to the reception and champagne (brut–let’s not kid ourselves) reception for my graduation from graduate school. I earned my MFA in nonfiction creative writing, and I’ve clearly been making the best of my education.

A flier for porn

IMG_0755A flier for the 2009 Indie Erotic Film Festival. I still have seriously mixed feelings regarding this particular little adventure. On one hand, hey cool free floating burlesque sexuality–pretty much just a cinematic parade of penis and vagina. On the other hand, pretty much a cinematic parade of penis and vagina in the company of complete strangers.

A post card

IMG_0757A postcard, blank on the back, of John Lennon circa 1971. It was a gift, I assume, and most likely from my dad, but it’s really anyone’s guess. Fun fact: This is actually a scientifically accurate depiction of everyone circa 1971. It wasn’t until 1985 that the US government sprayed for airborne music notes. Pan flutes are still a thing though.

Program for a memorial service

IMG_0760This is the program and music pamphlet from my paternal grandmother’s memorial service. It was a surprisingly difficult affair. We had seen her passing coming for a long time prior, but that knowledge didn’t seem to soften the blow. It was also one of the only times I have seen my father cry.

A ticket to Ellis Island

IMG_0762I honestly have no idea why I saved this. It was my first time to the Statue of Liberty, so I guess that might be it.

A pile of newspaper clippings

IMG_0763My parents send me newspaper clippings depending on what’s going on and where I am. Together, they all look like a mishmash of lefty rhetoric and international news. There is not a single piece from a particularly pivotal moment in time–just news stories that might escape the typical level attention given to print journalism.

Small drawings


I think I drew the mouse muffins ad in a Semiotics for Media and Advertising course, but I could be wrong. You should really buy one, though. They’re good.

Break-up letters


Humorous, sad, infuriating: it’s all closure one way or the other. I’m old fashioned. I like a woman who can break up with me over snail mail.

Letters of encouragement and recommendation


Lest it appear that I was being flippant, I also like getting good news in the mail.

An ad featuring Mayor Bloomberg

IMG_0767This is one of many things I had glued to my door during my freshman year of college. If I’m not mistaken, this was his sassy response to the question of whether he even smoked marijuana. Right or wrong, sassy responses to inane questions have a table reserved in the smoky cocktail lounge of my heart.

A postcard from Wes Christensen

IMG_0769Artist and family friend Wes Christensen had us pose for a painting about six or seven years ago. It was pretty cool to be depicted in paint. I noticed one thing, though: my head sort of looks like Megamind’s.

Pearls Before Swine comic

IMG_0770I think I saved this one because it perfectly depicts the two halves of my personality: joyfully surrealist and inconsolably grouchy. I would make a terrible grapefruit.

Pictures of a girlfriend


The first one is from high school prom, and the second is from some other thing in high school, probably after prom. I covered faces with my pocket-size comp book because not everyone in these pictures was 18 at the time. She is an author of one of the break-up letters above. Instead of thinking it’s weird, just know that this is the comp book I used for stand-up comedy–another relationship that failed–so it’s ok to laugh.

The Constitution of the United States of ‘Merica

IMG_0773I suppose I included this in case this was ever buried in a landslide and unearthed a thousand years later, which probably means that I threw this in the big yellow folder after I started treating it more as a time capsule and less as a repository for sentimental crap. Honestly, though, the purpose oscillates between these two things fairly often. Generally, when I move apartments (or across the planet) I throw stuff into the folder that I don’t want to toss in the trash.

Pictures of me


I think I covered my face in the first photo because I documented it right after the others. But then I found my high school swim team photo. I get the feeling I may have also censored the first photo because it’s my pimply teenage face, and the second is me being all fit and healthy looking. It looks like I caved to vanity. But what in the name of Pete am I doing with my hands?

Pictures from my first visit to Las Vegas

IMG_0775I went to Las Vegas with my mother when I was in high school. It wasn’t a gambling trip, though. We were there to catch a bus out to the Department of Energy’s atomic test site, where the US set off hundreds of nuclear bombs in the mid 20th century. We were able to walk right up to craters the size of small towns, but were told to avoid touching pretty much everything but the ground. So maybe we were there to gamble. If you’re still unsure about where we were…

Anyway, it seems that I was pretty interested in that Holy Cow brewery. It pretty much features in every photo.

Drawings and sketches


Most of the drawings and sketches I have in the folder are from high school. Some, like the abstract things in the last photo, are more recent. Let it be known that I was drawing zombie factories before it was cool.



In high school and for the first bit of college, I was very much into math and science, and hated, hated, hated my English classes. To an outside observer, though, I can see the irony. I got and sent an awful lot of mail, and this is just the stuff that I saved. I had pen pals and distant romantic interests, and we put the postal service to the test.

There’s something about a written letter that just can’t be replaced by email or Skype. The act of sitting down and writing it with pen and paper is more analog, more personal than a flurry of rapid key strokes. You feel every line and loop, and nothing is written that isn’t intended. Reading a letter is a similar experience. You can tell by the handwriting what mood the person was in, if they’re being sincere, and how much thought they put onto the page. And if the mail comes quickly enough, you can tell what their home smells like.

A warning

IMG_0785I posted this line from The Inferno above my dorm room during my freshman year in college. It was good advice, and too few people heeded it.

A pertinent question

IMG_0787Another item glued to my freshman dorm room door. I remember that this was born of a conversation I’d had, and so actually has some basis in reality. It was a metaphor.


IMG_0788More crap posted to the door. Stylistically, Sinfest has changed a lot since I took these off my door. I found this out while getting the link for the comic, so you can tell how important is has been to me. I pretty much just threw anything into the big yellow folder at one point. Maybe I thought I’d want to remember what bits of paper I’d pasted to a door once upon a time–which was apparently any bit of paper I could get ahold of. I do remember that I glued part of a box of crackers to the door. That bit of wanton randomness still amuses me.



While not the first dog in my home, Lizzy was the first dog that was mine. She was a great dog and could run faster and jump higher than any other dog I’ve known. I still miss her terribly, and she’s been gone for almost ten years.

The first two pictures are of proofs for a t-shirt my dad and I made when I was in primary school. It was the first time I’d ever used a silk screen.

Love coupons

IMG_0791Let’s just call them what they are: expired.

Aikido stuff

IMG_0796Belt requirements and techniques for the Aikido dojo I went to throughout high school. I developed chronic pain in my knees and couldn’t continue, even though I tried in college.

The Greek alphabet

IMG_0797I have no idea why I saved this, since it is readily available anywhere. Maybe I didn’t anticipate the iPhone.

Zapf Dingbats

IMG_0798128-point font. I’m sure there was a reason I printed these out, but whatever it was got overwritten by more important info long ago. Why I saved these is even more baffling.

Scout numbers

IMG_0799I was both a Cub Scout and a Boy Scout, and I’m fairly certain these are from the former, but it’s really anyone’s guess. Since this is more of a mnemonic journey, I’m not about to cheat and ask my parents. Unless I found these on the side of the road somewhere (don’t rule that out!), I’d say they were from Cub Scouts.

The Three Stooges

IMG_0801I thought that maybe this was another item I’d pasted to my door in college, but there are pushpin holes just above Curly’s head, so I think I had it tacked up somewhere. Doesn’t matter. I have always loved the Three Stooges, and I’d have been surprised to have not found something like this in the folder.

Temporary tattoos

IMG_0803When I got a real tattoo and freaked my mom out, temporary versions became obsolete. Honestly, though, I’m super tempted to get both of these done for real. The first is Rogue from the X-Men. She kicked more ass than Mike Tyson, Bruce Lee, and Mr. Miyagi combined, and I mourned the way her character was treated in the movies. The second is from Scud: The Disposable Assssin (see the Jesus-with-a-laser-gun picture in my post “Science Fiction and the Soul”). For a while, Scud has a “loaner” arm that features this tattoo. Unfortunately, the loaner arm belongs to a werewolf, who also happens to be part of the Royal Shakespeare Company and who eats Venus (the planet). I guess you had to be there.

Stuff in various languages!

IMG_0804Ancient Mayan, Chinese, and Japanese. The bookmark with Mayan spells out my name and birthday. So good luck with that. The chinese pouch is from a Chinese New Year celebration ages ago. And the Japanese thing is a sticker. I probably meant to stick it to something, but never did.

A polaroid

IMG_0805I went to a wedding out in Napa Valley when I was probably 12 or 13. I got to screw around with a camera, probably to keep me out of trouble. This is one of my parents’ friends, who I haven’t heard from in a long time. It’s actually pretty good for a candid Polaroid. Now that I think about it, I’m now about as old as she was in the photo. I keep stuff forever, people.

California Scholarship Federation

IMG_0806I am a card-carrying nerd.

Laws Concerning Food and Drink

IMG_0810I have this piece in a book now, but this is where I learned about Ian Frazier, sometime around the beginning of college, maybe in high school. I’d actually heard it on the radio first, but then went and found it on the internet. To this day, he remains one of my favorite writers, and was a role model during my time in grad school.

A girl

IMG_0811In high school, I went on a week-long school trip to Washington D.C., and while there fell in love with a girl from Minnesota. She was an awesome punk-rock chick with combat boots and a nappy brown overcoat. We corresponded for a while after the trip, and she sent me her Christmas sweater photos. She wasn’t 18 in the photos, so I wanted to cover her face, but my comedy notebook wasn’t big enough (there were a lot of pictures), so I used a big Sponge Bob sticker, which was also in the folder. Next best thing.

I got the sticker from my dad at some point.

Wedding invitations

IMG_0812I save stuff from other people’s weddings. If it’s something I can fit into the folder, in it goes. If it’s not, it usually remains in my possession somehow. I think I still have a yarmulke in the pocket of one of my coats. I recently found pasties from a burlesque show in one coat, so the hat’s bound to pop up sometime.

Anime crap


For my birthday in 2008, my friend Mike asked me what I wanted to do, and I replied that I wanted to do something terrifying. We went with our friend Claire to the anime convention in Boston. Never one for half measures, Mike talked his way into three press passes. It was like watching old Ben Kenobi use a Jedi mind trick. I’ve still never seen anything like it. What we saw there was indeed terrifying, interesting, colorful, and stupefying. For more info, check my Flickr page, starting with this photo.



My friends send me postcards, and most of the time, they’re awesome. I saved these. Front and center is an Easter card from my friends Ron and Amy. It’s not exactly a true postcard, since they sent it in an envelope, but let’s not split hares. The Spock card and the one under it are from Liz, and the Tide card is from Kim, from when she was in Taiwan. The one with the feet is from my girlfriend’s trip to Rome. Now that I’m in Malaysia, it’s my turn.

Carl the Friendly Snake

IMG_0817Carl the Friendly Snake. He dreams of cake. I think I did this doodle while at the AWP conference in Chicago in 2009.

The Fat Jedi

IMG_0820A few years ago, Mike, his now-wife Sarah, and I were sitting at the bar of UNO Chicago Grill in Harvard Square. I can’t remember exactly why, but Sarah started telling the bartender the (true) story of a fat guy who would dress up as a Jedi and project Star Wars onto the back of a comic book store. One thing led to another, and the bartender created, with our guidance, the Fat Jedi line of cocktails. Let history record that this is the very napkin on which these abominations were born. There is one for each color of lightsaber. We’re sticking with the original trilogy for two reasons: no one wants drunk nerds talking about the prequels, and talk of adding malt liquor to the purple one (Samuel Jackson’s) sounded a bit racist.

Fat Jedi Green (The Luke):

  • Midori
  • Mountain Dew
  • Apple Pucker
  • Sour mix
  • (I have a feeling we added vodka to this, but let’s call it an optional addition)

Fat Jedi Blue (The Sir Alec):

  • Gin (necessary because Obi Wan was always played by a British actor)
  • Stoli Blu(eberry)
  • Blue Curacao
  • Sour mix

Fat Jedi Red (The Vader):

  • Jagermeister
  • Cranberry juice
  • Grenadine
  • Watermelon Pucker
  • Rumple Minz

The Vader is exactly as harsh as it looks, but that’s the point. It is palatable, but just barely.

The “D”

IMG_0821A Django reference. My dad gave this to me in high school, and I’ve carried it with me everywhere I’ve gone. I have no idea why, other than it still makes me laugh.

A comic card

IMG_0823A postcard-type-thing that I picked up at a comic book store. Not sure when or how it made it into the folder. Perhaps during a move?

I Heart Porn

IMG_0824It’s a sticker my friend Liz (Spock postcard) gave me for my birthday one year. I thought about putting it on my laptop, but technology gets obsolete so quickly. It found its way into the folder. Maybe someone can stick it to my casket/urn when I die.


IMG_0825It’s a birthday card, but I thought it deserved its own entry, since it pretty much depicts the vessel that now holds it.


IMG_0828I lost my work badge and had to get it replaced. This is where it ended up. The yellow folder is a time capsule as much as an Island of Misfit Toys. I’m surprised I didn’t fine a half dozen left socks in there.

That’s it. The folder is getting full, and there’s some anxiety as to whether I’m going to need to discard it in favor of a larger vessel or simply duct tape it shut and start again. One thing I have noticed is that I put less and less stuff into it every year. Am I suffering from a lack of passion, or as I grow older do I simply imbue physical objects with less emotional gravity?