Want to know the truth about Nosferatu?
He wasn’t a vampire. He was just really pissed off.
Imagine, going to the carnival or a gift shop and looking for a personalized mug with your name on it… they have John and Mary and Susan and Joe, and Bob and Kent and…
And no Nosferatu.
If you ask the salesman, he asks you to repeat it. So you have to repeat it. Twice. Pretty soon, you’re shouting it and waving your hands around crazily.
See? That’s how it happens.
Now get me a fucking Laurence mug! Not W, with a U!

Alarming behavior


Typical alarm clocks can be turned off with a single button.
On the other hand, the alarm clock function on my cell phone requires me to hit… let’s see: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10 buttons.
Of course, there’s the much simpler option to press and hold the power button to turn the phone completely off before the alarm sounds.
I suppose that’s why I pulled out my phone at 10:30 today and it’s completely off.
Which is why I got a watch. To tell time when my cell phone is off.
This is how my mind works. Or, in this case, fails to work.

Stay up late


I’m up later than usual, sitting in my leather chair with a blanket over my legs.
Piper is purring under the blanket at my feet. Every now and then she chirps out a musical note and goes back to purring.
Nardo is under the rocking chair, tucked up with his eyes almost completely closed.
Both of them are waiting for me to go to bed. But there are some things I need to finish up before I can shut the computer down and crawl under the covers.
A few more words…
There. Finished.
Record it, post it, and good night.



He sat alone in the crowd, casually reading his book and sipping a pint.
He was waiting for some people, but he preferred to read instead of wait.
One beer… two… three…
Sure, he had been early, but now they were late.
Was he at the right place? Did he get the time wrong?
Every voice in the crowd started to sound like them.
He got up and looked around… twice… three times…
“And they lived happily ever after.”
Finished. Not bad.
He shrugged, paid his tab, tipped generously, and left.
Not a bad evening at all, he thought, smiling.

Hot Chocolate


The thermometer is barely showing any red. All the doors and windows are sealed tight, and there’s a roaring fire.
It’s the perfect evening for hot chocolate.
The problem is, we don’t have any. Well, we’ve got chocolate flakes, but not enough milk to boil for the foamy kind.
We draw straws.
Short… short… short…
Long. Yeah, I drew the long straw, so I get to go out for the milk.
I bundle up with everything I’ve got, and I run out the door.
It’s only five minutes to the store and back.
Ten, if you forget your goddamned wallet.



I remember turning thirty. It was a special time.
When people asked me how old I was, I said “Thirtysomething.”
People asked me what something meant. I’d reply “zero.”
Then I’d be asked “Shouldn’t you say ‘Thirtynothing’ instead of ‘Thirtysomething’ ?”
And I’d say “If silence can speak louder than words, nothing can be something.”
If I played tennis, I’d probably have said “Thirty – love.”
But I don’t. So I didn’t say it.
Now that I think of it, I never did watch that “Thirtysomething” show.
When I turn forty, I’ll also be thirtysomething. Something being ten, of course.

Circling the bowl


“Where’s your story?” asked Guido, adjusting his glasses and reloading the page. “One story a day, come hell or high water, right?”
“Didn’t feel like writing one,” said Laurence, shrugging.
“Didn’t you pick the theme?” asked Guido.
“Yeah,” said Laurence. “I just… you know… something’s missing.”
Guido looked at his nephew’s bloodshot eyes. “You don’t look so good,” he said. “Getting enough sleep?”
“It’s not that,” said Laurence. “It’s the inspiration. It’s missing.”
“Well, if the site hasn’t completely flushed away, it’s certainly circling the bowl,” said Guido.
Laurence nodded. “Maybe tomorrow will be different?”
Guido shrugged. “Maybe it will.”



Piper has a long, pretty tail.
When she gets mad, she growls and swats at it. I suppose this is better than her swatting and attacking the other cats. Or me.
If she’s about to pounce on something, she wiggles it before she leaps.
She sticks it in her mouth and walks in circles when she wants attention.
She’ll do this on top of the fence every so often, even if it is raining.
As I type this story, Piper is sitting on the back of my chair, gently tickling my ear with her tail.
Tails are very useful things.

Liquid sin in a St. Arnold’s glass


Just keep pulling Guinness for me, and if you’re busy Christine, I’m not worried. The longer it takes you, the warmer the beer. And the warmer the beer, the better it is.
Nobody loses, everybody wins. I’m okay with it.
Running out of cold pint glasses? Not worried about that none, either. Same reason. Wouldn’t be right to think otherwise.
World would be a better place if all the little stuff stayed little.
I used to get riled up about that stuff. Forgot I was in Texas.
Everything’s big here. Little stuff is that much more little by comparison.

Frisky’s Butter


Frisky the cat hangs out in the kitchen and demands two things: Parmesan cheese and butter.
Now that I’ve switched to that omega-3 spread plant sterol stuff, there’s plenty of butter left over for Frisky.
I don’t know where we got it, but recently we bought Grade AA butter instead of the Grade A butter. Until now, I didn’t know there were different grades of butter.
One was yellower than the other, but I couldn’t tell the difference.
Frisky could. He turned his nose up at it and chirped angrily.
I gave in and gave him the good stuff.