Writing Home

The day I met Gary Larson, I ended up wiping cream pie off his face. Larson had come for a book-signing at the Bookseller in Coeur d'A...

The local NBC station runs a news program at 11 a.m. that they cheerfully call "Midday News." I'm now sure how it is midday at...

While I was inside last week, working at the computer and typing occasional posts on Facebook, outside my window snow was howling down, form...

I was so busy with (paid) editing work last week that I worked through Saturday and Sunday, into the evening. Yet, I still found the time to...

This is one of those things that probably would never leave my head if I didn't have a blog—I thought of these at breakfast and wrote th...

On Thanksgiving night we ventured out in dense fog to see "Fantastic Mr. Fox." Visibility was near-zero, but we'd purchased th...

I know, I know, bloggers are supposed to keep their posts short—somewhere between a tweet and the length of one computer screen. But some we...

Yesterday, I promised to give my current playlist of melancholy songs, but perhaps I promised too much. My playlist is ever-evolving, my pur...

The antidote to depressing music? Anything by P.G. Wodehouse. I most enjoy hearing or seeing Wodehouse performed instead of just reading hi...

In my last post I asked the question: "What is the most depressing song ever?" The post title itself reveals my problem with wr...