Monthly Archives: August 2004

I have this thing sometimes where I imagine some guy in a toga is miraculously transported into my living room and I have to find a way to make him understand the miracle of baking soda, or a stick shift, … Continue reading →

I once worked with a feng shui writer who told me that once she got past trying to explain to someone why they needed to bury a metal barbell beneath a ficus plant facing a mirror in the northeast corner … Continue reading →

“Please pass the torch without a fight or burning yourself.” You know what happens at midlife? You find yourself making one last attempt at dragging the overstuffed Army surplus dufflebag of your youth up the stairs, and then you think, … Continue reading →

Every time Jackson gets into my car he wants to hear Raffi sing “Baby Beluga.” Every time he gets into Jack’s truck he wants to hear Velvet Muvolver. Don’t get me wrong, Raffi’s okay, but Mom can rock, too, you … Continue reading →

Jackson asked me how the people on the back of my New Yorker were keeping their leafy underpants up, so I figured it was time to tell him about “God.” He liked the part of the story where Adam got … Continue reading →

I threw out the What to Expect book after we’d achieved first tooth, first step, first Fuck you, Mom! (Gosh, was that only last week? Time do fly.) But my neighbor is up on all the current childrearing literature and … Continue reading →

Last summer Jackson was mad for the Hulk, this summer it’s Spider-man. Spider-hyphen-man. Were the concepts of “spider” and “man” just too close originally, we needed a buffer? Yes. Where would we be without the emotional buffers only punctuation can … Continue reading →

Jackson’s Dream “In my dream I saw a ghost. And I said, Hey, you fucking ghost! And then a baby triceratops came. It was so cute! But I didn’t pet it.” My Dream I’m kissing Steve Nash! But — he’s … Continue reading →