Archive for May 2015

“So you’re a lefty?” Years ago, I stopped making smart ass remarks to this inane question. “No, but my right hand has a small patch of gangrene” and “No. I like to rotate my hands like we rotate our tires, so I don’t wear them out unevenly” were fun things to say but never truly appreciated.  Instead, I…

It’s unlikely that Shakespeare ever had the opportunity to sign his work. His plays weren’t even gathered and bound until after his death, and like today, people in his time did not walk around reading plays in their spare time.  But I recently described my version of an author talk, and it includes recommending books that…

Happy Mother’s Day to all of the mothers of the world. A friend and mother recently tweeted: “Ok! All set on articles trying to make me feel bad about looking forward to Mother’s Day! Quota filled!” She is, of course, referencing the annual inundation of pieces complaining about Mother’s Day for a variety of reasons, ranging…

I discovered the secret to the perfect marriage, and I didn’t even realize it. A friend recently joked that she couldn’t imagine what my wife, Elysha, was thinking when she married me. It’s a joke made often. Sometimes even by me.  Occasionally people have made this statement absent any humor. They know my wife. They know me. They cannot see…

I’m afraid of the day when the arrival of the garbage truck on a Monday morning ceases to be entertainment for my children.  Thankfully this was not that day.

A middle aged person recently told me that he doesn’t have any gay friends and has never had a gay friend or even a gay acquaintance. I think this probably means one of three things: He doesn’t have many friends. He’s a bigot and his gay friends know it. He’s part of a frighteningly insular community where…

In case you haven’t heard, I have no intention of ever dying. Sincerely. So what proceeds is purely hypothetical.   So if I were to die – WHICH IS NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN – I have an idea. Or more appropriately, I learned of an idea that I would like to steal: When pianist André Tchaíkowsky died of cancer in…

It’s not often that a real person who exists within a fictional story gives you an object that represents a critical moment from that story.  It probably happens as often as pigs fly, which in Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend is exactly once. 

I had a delicious, delightful dinner at The Perfect Wife in Manchester Center, Vermont this weekend.  As we waited for the check, I excused myself to use the restroom.  I was using the urinal when I looked up and saw this: This was the portrait hanging over the urinals. I actually let out a little scream…