An Open Letter to the TNDP

Dear TNDP,

Man, it’s a total gyp that you want me to go dutch with you on a lunch with Chip. I mean, clear to Rutherford County? Please. I guess I could probably jerry rig my brother’s car together in order to get there, but what if someone else welshes on their meal? Who’s going to pick up that tab?

Etc. etc. etc.

I know I’m always the killjoy about this nonsense, but, please, in the future, if you want to use a word or phrase that contains a nationality or ethnicity or ethnic slur as an integral part of it, wikipedia that shit beforehand and then just choose something else. Please. I am begging you.



The Waiting is the Hardest Part

My seeds have shipped, which means that soon they will arrive, which means that soon after that, I will be sitting in my house, seed packets in hand, imagining exactly where I’ll put them and what they’ll grown up to be and on and on.

And it will be all I can do to not go into my yard and put tiny seeds in wet dirt.

Must wait until April 15th. Must wait.

Shoot, I can’t wait! Woo hoo.

R.I.P. Corey Haim

One of my fondest memories, something I still tease my mom about, is going with her to the movie theater in Morris to see The Lost Boys for a dollar (or, I guess, two; one for each of us). This may have been my first R-rated movie in a theater.

And it was so crappy! The theater, not the movie, which I still love. But the whole middle reel was missing, so the movie didn’t make sense. And my mom still screamed the whole way through it. And, you know, this was a dollar theater in a small town in Illinois. She was the only adult in the theater.


My mom got shushed by high school kids.

I was so mortified.

But we still laugh about that.

I hung pictures of Corey Haim on my wall and River Phoenix and Johnny Depp. Weird that only Depp’s left.