He knew she would always be there, knowing he would always be there, waiting.
They had never met. He knew she was a world away from him. She came to him in his dreams, her voice lingering but quickly fading in those hazy moments upon waking. It was like a record listened to backwards to reveal secret messages, but just as he felt he was beginning to comprehend it it was gone, leaving him cold and alone in his studio apartment. Continue reading →
The wide-bladed, dully green St. Augustine grass was smooth and comparatively cool against the soles of her feet, a welcome respite from the sun-baked asphalt. She was wandering the neighborhood today, with no particular destination in mind, and had just crossed over from the sidewalks of her block to the field that made up most of the community park around the corner. The playground was deserted. There were unavoidably large outcroppings of clover here, the interspersed white flowers tickling her, but she was careful not to step on the dandelions. She didn’t want to crush any future wishes. Continue reading →
Rita carefully folded her periwinkle sundress and placed it in the bottom drawer of her walnut dresser. She picked up the empty basket and returned it to the laundry room. She used to enjoy the ritual of exchanging her summer clothes for the sweaters and turtlenecks she used to fight the chill of autumn, but this time it, like seemingly everything lately, was making her a little sad.
It was only five o’clock, but already the day felt as if it had gone on far too long. Rita considered going to bed, but knew if she did her mother would nag her about the importance of keeping a regular sleep schedule. So instead she walked to the backyard and sat on the slab of concrete that tried unsuccessfully to pass as a porch. Continue reading →
This Saturday, June 27th, 2015, was the memorial for Dale Comer. This is the text of the speech I gave.
At the memorial, the Dale Comer Scholarship was announced, providing at least $500 a year for Broadcast Engineering students at Bates Technical College in Tacoma. If you would like to make a donation, send a check with “Dale Comer Scholarship” on the memo line to:
KBTC Public Television 2320 S. 19th St Tacoma, WA 98405
When Dale passed away, I was devastated. He was my best friend. The last time I talked to him on the phone, it sounded like he was actually on the upswing, so when I found out he was fading fast, it hit extra hard.
I was lucky enough to visit him before he passed, and even though he couldn’t really talk, he was still there, he could still communicate. And… even as he lay dying, HE comforted ME when I broke down crying. That’s kind of Dale in a nutshell. Continue reading →
It was a lousy gig, but at this point any gig was worth taking. I had all the usual bullshit dreams of coming to New York and making it as an actor but here I was dressed up every day in a monkey suit for the screaming kids at a second-rate pizza joint. At the moment I was outside on my cigarette break, no longer noticing that the jaded lunchtime crowd didn’t notice me. Going out and getting falling-down drunk seemed like a good plan for tonight. This sure is a great town. Not soul-crushing at all. Continue reading →
His eyes slowly fluttered open and he stared at the ceiling. Here it was, his thirteenth birthday. He hadn’t expected thirteen to feel that different from twelve, but something did feel off and unfamiliar somehow. Arthur stretched his bony arms backwards over his head and then sat up, rubbing his rumpled hair.
At the kitchen table downstairs, his mother already had his favorite breakfast of orange juice, french toast, and a sunny-side-up egg laid out for him. As he sat down, she hurried in from the kitchen, grabbing his shoulders and kissing his cheek. “Good morning, birthday boy!” she said overly cheerfully. Continue reading →
She was on the couch devouring a novel, her warm little brown dachshund cuddled up against her. He was nestled in the crook of her arm, sleeping with the peace of the innocent. Occasionally she could feel his stubby legs stirring against her as he dreamed, perhaps of chasing but never catching rabbits in a sun-dappled meadow or just running long, triumphant laps around the neighborhood park where she sometimes took him, everything an adventure. The whisper of the book’s turning leaves called and answered with his quiet, sleepy breaths. She wished she could ever be as perfectly contented. Continue reading →
Glean, the seventeenth studio album from They Might Be Giants, somehow manages to be both innovative and familiar, like pulling on your favorite denim jacket and suddenly finding a secret treasure map in the pocket. Its fifteen tracks hold a number of surprises, but the songs never lose sight of what makes TMBG TMBG.
All but three of Glean’s tracks were culled from releases on the newly-revived Dial-A-Song, a project just a couple of years younger than TMBG itself which originally consisted of demos and musical miscellany being released via a simple answering machine. This year’s incarnation of Dial-A-Song has TMBG releasing a new song every single week for the entirety of 2015. Continue reading →
This was not what I expected from the end of the world. Where was the brimstone, the lake of fire, the many-headed beast? Instead all we got was the lights going out, one by one. And then, finally, the sun. It did not set one final time. It was just not there anymore, and we were in unspeakable darkness. But no one panicked. Everyone seemed to peacefully accept the fact that this was all there was. Whatever was coming next, it had to be better than the mess we’d made of things here. Not with a bang, but a whimper.Continue reading →
Coffee, strong coffee. Sending vibrations, shockwaves, directly to her brain, which in turn set her fingers flying across the keys of her maroon Smith-Corona, each push resulting in clattering contact with the page, ink as black as the coffee against virginal paper. Five pages now. Not stopping until it was done. Another sip of coffee, more inspiration seizing hold of her. Always better to compose on a typewriter, tapping into the creative power of her literary ancestors, a direct lineage from the heroic bards of the past down to her, alone at her desk but wrapped in words, words, words. Continue reading →