I walk through the lobby of Corporate one last time and wave to Jerry and Dale as I stride toward the door. My steps feel light with the weight of my secret job off my back. I exit into the parking lot and prepare myself emotionally for my next stop. A honk from a car pulling up startles me. I turn and see the Cosmic VW Bus rolling to a stop. Marlene Hunter leans out the passenger’s side window. “Hey, handsome,” she calls out to me. “Need a lift?” I smile and walk to her. He

The morning after the incident with Marci King and The Guild of Starving Young Herpezoids back in college, my chest hurt. A tightness gripped the area around my heart and squeezed until breathing became a struggle. It maintained its vice-like hold for several days. The obvious course of action should have been a hospital visit, but the thought of leaving my apartment petrified me. Sleep eluded me with the ever-present threat of extraterrestrial bullies lurking outside my door

Every session starts with the same question. “What is something good that has happened since our last session?” I used to not answer because I couldn’t think of anything. Now, I make stuff up in a passive aggressive way to show my disdain for this entire process. “Yesterday I wore pants outside the house. Hashtag blessed.” “Are you still having nightmares?” “Not every night,” I say. “Not like before.” The man, my court-appointed therap

I'm running out of time. Today marks the last year of my 50s and the plan was to be a multi-millionaire novelist/amateur sleuth by the time I hit 60. My wife and I would travel around in our motor home, trying the local cuisine and meeting eccentrics while encountering a whodunit. She, with her keen eye for detail and sharp listening skills, would find the clues and poke holes in people's stories. I would be her plucky comic relief. What better way to spend our AARP Era than

We sped along the blacktop ribbon driving I-70 at midnight, air-conditioning broken, windows down, screaming the lyrics to songs we swore they hated. And the soundtrack to this Odyssey to nowhere and everywhere Poured through the speakers like so much Guitar-driven wine.

Carol's Kitchen Blog: Southern Smothered Pork Chops There are few things I enjoy more than hosting a summer pool party. The sound of splashing water. The smell of sunscreen. The sight of friends gathered around the patio table enjoying a meal I've spent all morning preparing while certain people spend all morning "testing the pool temperature" with Ann from three houses down. But enough about Dave's newfound interest in aquatic science. Today I'm sharing my Mango Corn Salmon

Southwestern Oregon Valley State University hired me to teach 18th Century Norwegian Erotica contingent on a successful defense of my dissertation: Codpieces and Cod Fisheries: Intersections of Maritime Commerce and Desire in Pre-Napoleonic Norway. A niche topic, I admit, but it was either that or Fjordplay: Geographic Determinism and Romantic Expression in the Works of Lars Bjørnsen (1747–1791). I decided Lars Bjørnsen had been analyzed to death. The three hour charter in Ha

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by hydration ratios, starving hysterical naked in the glow of refrigerator lights at 2:13 a.m., feeding jars of bubbling beige despair named things like Bread Pitt and Doughvid Bowie. And I was among them. I came to sourdough late— after the collapse of civilization, or at least after Brenda from Facebook started posting crumb shots with captions like “wild-fermented joy 🌾✨.” The starter arrived in my life like an abandoned phi

Constantin Stanislavski said, "There are no small parts. Only small actors." True, but there are also small paychecks. That's why I went to Hollywood. Big parts. Big fame. Big money. And I got it, baby. I got it all. I've done some big pictures with some of Hollywood's dreamiest leading men. Mohawk Over the Moon with William Holden. The Rain Dancers of Rango Rango with Randolph Scott. San Quentin Blues with Elvis himself. I enjoyed that one because it was a musical. Any chanc

If there is one question I get asked frequently it's this: At exactly what point does a formal system become powerful enough for Gödel’s First Incompleteness Theorem to apply, and how would you rigorously demonstrate that threshold? My answer is always same: I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm more of a Wikipedia guy. Another question I get is: What is your writing process? At this, I always smile and nod. So, you want to be a writer, I think to myself. You fool. Al

I arrived at Cinco de Mayo with a soul like a chipped margarita glass—salted, questionable, probably shouldn’t be trusted with citrus and salt-lined libations. The night pulsed like a neon mariachi dream, trumpets blaring truths I wasn’t equipped to process, and somewhere— somewhere between the second and fourth taco— I found God in a squeeze bottle of salsa verde. “Oh man,” I whispered to no one and everyone, “I am culturally appreciating so hard right now.” Some dude named

I have always maintained that one’s legacy is measured not by one’s wealth—but by one’s discretion. Which is precisely why the incident in Honolulu was… unfortunate. My beautiful wife (and partner in crime) Lovey and I had been retained—at considerable expense—to remove a certain industrialist who had developed the regrettable habit of remaining alive. The plan was elegant. A quiet dinner. A discreet poison. A tasteful exit. Contract complete. “Darling,” Lovey whispered, “are

I come from people of the sea. Not like mermaids and mermen, although those exist and you don't want to mess them. Especially mermen. Where mermaids are beautiful and seductive, mermen are ugly and smell like dead fish in a scummy pond. And both are lousy tippers. No, my grandpappy was a fisherman who captained a Downeaster that cruised Block Island Sound. Though sometimes he would chart a course for the Vineyard. Other times, Nantucket Bound. It was a hard life for him out o

NOTE: From time to time, I like to write my reactions to a series upon completing a binge. What follows are my thoughts on the recent season of Beef, which dropped last Thursday on Netflix. My wife and I finished it in two days. Season 2 of Lee Sung Jin's outstanding Beef feels more like a riff on Mike White's The White Lotus than Beef Season 1. This isn't a complaint. Lee Sung Jin, like White, mines a setting that caters to ridiculously privileged people as a means for satir

Every so often I come across social media discussion about whether listening to an audiobook counts as reading. Because it's social media, many people have some very strong opinions on the subject. I am not one of those people. Reading it. Listening to it. All the same to me. Whatever your opinion on the matter, you're right. I don't mean that dismissively. I think there are valid points all around and I'm not going to get into a layered debate about it. What matters to me is

NOTE: Last Sunday, I reposted an 11-year-old entry from my old blog. That post was intended to be an ongoing story but I never picked it up. Today, I thought I'd give it a go. Also, I literally made this up as I went along. Like a writing sprint. This is literally a rough draft. Do with that what you will. Life is funny. One minute you're throwing back tequila shots in a tiki bar with a redhead named Joan who says she's in advertising , the next you're sitting in the sand of

Carol's Kitchen Blog: Southern Smothered Pork Chops For Those Who Appreciate Flavor and Kind Words (Unlike Debra) There’s something truly special about sharing recipes online. It’s not just about the food—it’s about community. Connection. Supporting one another as we all try to put warm, nourishing meals on the table for the people we love at a time when the world is filled chaos. Most people understand that. Some people— Debra —do not. But we’ll get to that. I originally sh

This piece was originally posted on my old blog on August 10th, 2015. If memory serves, the intent was to do a short story that merged 'Gilligan's Island' and 'Lost.' Not an original idea, I admit. It never came to fruition. Maybe this'll spark something. Either way, enjoy. So, I answer an ad from someone seeking a first mate on a charter conducting three-hour tours around the Hawaiian. Next thing I know, I'm playing Ishmael to the skipper's Ahab as he chases something he swe

This was going to be a review of the excellent film Project Hail Mary. No. Wait. Actually, I wanted to share my thoughts on the outstanding Joe Hill novel, King Sorrow. I also watched the first paintball episode of Community the other day. Sharing my reaction to that would be fun. On my other blog, Metaphysical Furniture , I've written about a couple of my favorite TV episodes. People ask me how to write a book or start a blog. The answer is appallingly simple: start writing

I saw the best minds of my generation disassembled in a flash of quantum static—reassembled under fluorescent eternity somewhere between nowhere and Georgia the sign humming like a neon oracle: WAFFLE HOUSE —and the universe said, sit anywhere. Chrome counter gleaming like a confession booth for sinners who confess in hash browns, scattered, smothered, covered— a holy trinity of cholesterol and hardened arteries. I arrived barefoot in the middle of booth seven steam rising fr