IT’S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR
So it’s the holidays. And as much fun as it may be to act like a snarky assholish curmudgeon, the truth is I love this time of year. I love Christmas. You get to not work. You get to be with family. You get all the good free shit that you’re usually too cheap to buy for yourself. Little kids running around adds a whole ...
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LEMME MARINATE ON IT
I’ve always had a rather lengthy list of things that I think are bullshit. It’s a highly scientific process of how something or someone finds their way onto that list. Usually it begins with me furrowing my brow, pointing with an index finger and stating, “That’s bullshit.” And at that point judgment has been ...
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HIGH ON THE HOG, JOWL LEVEL IF WE’RE BEING PRECISE
So The Month of Cooking Dangerously could now be more accurately called The Season of Cooking Irritably. My fucker of a kitchen still isn’t done. Granted, to the casual observer it is done. Functionally it’s done. But the last few nagging details have lingered on and on like a stale fart in the place where I should be ...
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TO A DELICIOUS CORPSE
It is, in the most literal sense, the end of the line. 2012 has come to an end. And while I think making life changes or engaging in excessive introspection based on a fairly meaningless number in a made-up timeline is sort of bullshit, certain things deserve their due. One of those things is ritualistic eating as the clock ...
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THRIVING ON NEGLECT
I believe there are a few great points of clarity in a man’s life. Awakenings that make all of the days’ variables fall neatly into clicking patterns, creating a feeling less like drowning in bullshit and more like living in a neatly organized solar system of bullshit. Everything in its place, even the floating turd ...
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INDIAN SUMMER DINNER
Traveling on the road always brings me several pangs of guilt. The ideas of being an absent husband, an absent father, a bloated, gluttonous hotel room lout after too many days of self medicating with restaurant meals and an overly free hand with the mini-bar scotch… They all come together in a sort of dull toxic swirl ...
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SUNDAY MORNING
This morning, sometime after Sesame Street, I’ll ask The Wolf if she wants to go to the garden. She will stand up, leave whatever we’re currently busy with, grab her favorite tomato bowl and head for the door. We step out, time expands, the early morning humidity sets in as we pick fruit, water herbs, kill leaf footed ...
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