American Gothic, 1988

I'm a werewolf.

I once took a personality test to see which character I would be from Harry Potter, and the answer was Professor Lupin. The fact that I'm actually a werewolf had nothing to do with the test. It was that accurate.


My celebrity lookalike is Gary Oldman, who plays Sirius Black.

Area Pet Owner Stunned by Volume of Dog Urine

Dog owner John's Brain was speechless Friday morning after discovering a three-foot-long puddle of dog pee on the kitchen floor of his home.

"Oh my fricking --" he uttered, unable to finish his sentence.

"That fricking...," he began again. In a gesture of apathy, he then raised his arms and allowed them to fall, slapping uselessly against his thighs.

Brain, who was on his way to the family's refrigerator, encountered the yellow pool just minutes before he was scheduled to leave his home, but remained motionless in front of it for some time.

Exposure to the substance may have been responsible for his increasing difficulty to remove the offending agent or form a complete sentence without the use of swear words.

"I wasn't late for work until now," he said, addressing the urine with an armada of paper towels.

The urine, which most likely appeared the previous evening, continued to inch its way toward the wall opposite the side of which it had started.

According to John, the dog's small stature makes it "highly unlikely" for her to generate pee in such quantities, leading him to believe that she had help from another animal, possibly a waterlogged bear.

DNA test results came back negative; nonetheless, he vowed a diligent search to find any accomplices.

He also said he would introduce legislation which would allow the dog to be let out more frequently, particularly during the evening hours, with the stipulation that the family's pet find a position of employment to help defray the cost of paper towels and Handi-wipes.

Hardee's Chronicles, Part IV

My job at Hardee's was at the counter. I never worked the kill floor, or whatever it was they did back there. In those days it was rare to have a guy take your order, so just standing behind a cash register opened up a whole can of stigma.

One day the door swung open and a bunch of tough guys walked in. They looked like beat-up cinder blocks in flannel who just got back from a grease monkey fight, sponsored by oil.

One of the men, who I'm pretty sure had one eye, came up to my till. I just stood there in my cute little outfit, wondering how many seconds were left before the murdering started. I thought, There's nothing to defend myself with except meat. I suppose I could threaten him with high cholesterol but he'll probably order some anyway.

Then, in a crackly rumble that stopped the clock, he said, "Hey, aren't you supposed to be a girl?"

I'm not kidding.

Hardees Chronicles, Part III

I was scheduled to be "host" on my last day of work. That meant you would spend your shift refilling drinks and condiments.

In dress clothes.

It was like being knighted by a store manager. (I'm sure there are scores of others who feel like royalty as they roam from table to table with two pots of coffee -- "Hast thou regular or decaf?!")

Anyway, I left my scarecrow-colored polyester uniform at home and drove down for my last shift.

The only catch was that if someone knew it was your last day, they would dump a bucket of ice water over your head.

Not only that, but college orientation was the next day, so I had to book it three hundred miles that night. There would be no time for this knight to dry off. He would have to ride in wet dress clothes.

Luckily I was a skilled liar, so when the manager approached me to ask if this was indeed my last day, I replied, "Oh, no, that's tomorrow."


It worked.


And I never saw them again, ever. Because now it's a liquor store.

The eight other most likely faces of me

Not bad, except what the hell is up with Einstein?

Trolling at the lake

Science Club Trip to Idaho, 1985

Rumor has it that the horse stepped on dad's foot moments before this picture was taken.

Vacation at the lake

Then...


...and now

Twenty Years Ago

Untitled

At first I wondered what she was thinking, then I realized I should know better.

Memorial weekend 2007

This is the view from the dock of our lake cabin. The wind sketches across the water in the distance.





Closer to shore






Brother preparing to ski

Happy Blue Moon

Full moon's twin bathes our
imaginations blue, a
beautiful white lie

Hardee's Chronicles, Part II

My friend and I were sitting in a booth at Hardee's drinking Coke. We didn't have enough money for anything else. The store manager came up to us with a tray of french fries and asked if we wanted some. Several nanoseconds later we accepted his offer. He set the whole tray down and went back to work.

Aaand, roll credits.

Hardee's Chronicles, Part I

In 1985 a Hardee's opened in my hometown of about 4,000 people. I didn't bother telling mom and dad I wanted to go. It was a forgone conclusion. A sign that popular in a town that small would eventually attract everybody. The bright orange sign might as well have said "This way to the outside world." It was a status symbol, at least in that little corner of the US. I would be able to say that I saw people I knew, eating at a Hardees.

And our store was unique. It boasted a train theme, in honor of the town's origin. There were train pictures, train memorabilia, and a wall border with an old-fashioned train design.

At first I was awestruck at having a nationally familiar store in our town.

Hardee's sold plastic goblets that could hold a quart of the new Cherry Coke, and twisty cones with spiralling towers of ice cream that could feed three and were served with a tiny sheet of wax paper wrapped around the little cone, increasing the chance that it would slip from your hand.

Behind the counter, unapologetically big burgers accented with lettuce and buns slid down metal chutes like cattle fodder, boxed in styrofoam that would puff up big sacks of garbage scented with ketchup and cigarettes.

Salads were condiments.

There were padded wooden booths and greasy brass handrails. Tinfoil ashtrays, some already full, were on half of the tables in the store. The floor seemed slippery, like someone had washed it with oil.

Employees in orange and brown polyester would walk around with water bottles and swipe wet rags across tables. They always looked too oily to be cleaning something else.

The drive-thru had only one window, where one employee would talk to one customer, into a microphone, mounted to the cash register.

There was no nutritional information.

There was no fruit.

I never heard anyone question anything.

Those were the real days of fast food.

My phone conversation with Poppy

Here is my first phone call from Poppy, as she and mommy were driving home. I had just walked in the door.

Me: Hello? (silence) ...hello?
Poppy: Hi.
Me: Who's this?
Poppy: Poppy.
Me: Oh, hi! How's it going?
Poppy: I'm gonna get the orange bike.
Me: Oh, ok.
Poppy: The one with bees and butterflies.
Me: Well that's good...
Poppy: Are you at home right now?
Me: Yes.
Poppy: Did you beat us?
Me: Well, I thought you'd be here. I wasn't racing you...
Poppy: Why did you do that?
Me: Uh, I don't know. Sorry. Where are you?
Poppy (pointing to house): Right there. (sound of garage door opening)

Our talk continued even as she came in the door and stood right in front of me.

I'll probably miss this when she's a teenager.

The hazards of Extreme Belting

Aloha

Here's a photo of the play I'm in, called Nurse Jane Goes to Hawaii. The story is about Vivien, a romance novelist whose next opus is created around the events unfolding before her. And trust me, that's the easiest explanation there is.


And now, the cast of characters.

From top left:

Bill: married to Betty; had a daughter with Doris
Doris: married to Edgar
Edgar (me): married to Doris; had a son with Betty
Betty: married to Bill; Vivien's editor

From bottom left:

Peggy: Bill and Doris' daughter
Peter: Edgar and Betty's son
Vivien: romance novelist

Sorry.

Area man kicks chair, wall

Editor's Note: For those of you who do not know me, the following story is an exaggeration of the truth. Not the fortune cookie, though. That actually happened.

Area man John's Brain, distraught by a shortened lunch hour and a poor selection of dining options, turned and kicked a nearby chair earlier today when he became disillusioned by a fortune cookie which contained no fortune.

Although details are sketchy, it is alleged that the kicked-upon objects also included a nearby wall.

"Oh, this is rich," Brain said. "I'm loving this."

The day up to that point, Brain recalled, had sucked. "I was already in a bad mood when this crapload of work came in," he began, "and we decided to cut our lunch hour in half. Of course I didn't bring mine, so I had to go running off like a lunchless moron."

"I just wanted some soup," he continued. Then, wagging a finger and shaking his head, he explained, "But they always have to make it difficult, don't they."

It was unclear if Brain was actually asking a question.

Although he reported finding several places in the vicinity which offered soup, the only choices available were split pea or a "nauseating cajun broth that smelled like a decomposing forest."

"I mean come on, don't try so hard," he exclaimed, motioning to nothing in particular. "I had to book it three blocks to the next cafeteria, and guess what?" After a short pause for effect, he added slowly, "Split puke and wood rot."

Brain ultimately decided on chicken stir fry, accompanied with a free fortune cookie. "I figured 'What the hell, if the gods are going to mock me, I might as well know the joke,'" he mused.

The resulting irony of being denied even a false fortune led to the kicking incident. When asked to comment further, Brain suddenly appeared to grow disinterested with the interview before slumping into his chair to resume his duties.