The Password’s Lasagna.

As I left my house this afternoon, I noticed some footprints in the snow.  Always the reflective type, they inspired me to ponder some of life’s deepest questions — such as, “am I going to be brutally murdered in my bed tonight?” Let me backtrack.   I had come home from work, gone for an orc-run, and returned, all without seeing the footprints.  After a shower and an excruciatingly drawn-out session of nail-clipping, I went out the door, rosy cheeked and whistling, only to be stopped abruptly by the unfamiliar...and recently made...tracks in the snow.   They were made by someone wearing very ugly shoes.   A man-sized someone.   They had completely flat soles and were shaped like nearly perfect ovals.  They were distinctive.  They were hideous.   They were leading straight up my driveway.   Aghast, I tracked the prints.  They went to the garage door, paused, turned around, and disappeared....

You’ll notice we humans rarely talk about good things with each other.   Obviously, the dire straights, the strange weather patterns, the annoying people, the close calls, are much more interesting and have more humorous potential.   Yet I challenge you:  Find the good in today.   The sparkle on the snow, that patch of blue sky, your neighbor who shoveled your driveway before you were awake (my undying gratitude is yours, neighba’), the time you drank fifteen-year-old apple juice at your grandma’s house and suffered no ill effects...whatever it is that’s good, lovely, pleasant, noble...think on these things.   And talk about ‘em with other people.   It might be a short, dry, boring conversation... “Isn’t it great how the sky is blue?  Wow!” “I know right.” “Yeah.  It’s beautiful.” “Yep.” “...” “......” “..” “.” ...but try it.   Seek out the everyday glitter in life....

I had nice encounter yesterday.  I was at the grocery store, ready to sell my soul and make my escape, when it happened.  I was peering down the aisles, checking out the check-out clerks, looking for one who wasn’t: A teenage guy.   An ex-tattoo artist/failed rapper with a bitter heart.  That girl who commented on my ice cream preferences in a negative way seven months ago.   I was hoping to find a kind, comfortable middle-aged woman, or maybe that cute guy who was there last week and who I maybe just thought was cute because I liked his name (his name was NOT Elmo, in case that thought would ever cross your mind).   ANYWAAAY.  After six aisles failed to meet my criteria, I came to the last aisle, which was manned by a youngish woman.  She looked normal, so I stepped into her lane and set my groceries down.    As I did so, I glanced towards her to see more clearly who I was up against, and our eyes locked for a fatal...

Hi world! Hi new readers! Yes, I’m talking to you!  And you!  And you over there...and you, too. Hi. You’re my favorite people.  Remember that the next time you fill your cereal bowl too full and try to carry it into the next room and milk sploshes onto your hand...and your jammies...and the floor....and your dog’s head...and somehow, miraculously, onto the table and chair and sink and your couch, even though none of those things are in the same room as you. I’ve never done that. But it seems like it’d be a bit of a downer. So. In future, don’t cry over spilled milk - smile, because you’re one of my favorite persons and I’m watching you. I mean...wait...what?  Ignore that last part.

This has nothing to do with today’s comic, but it has been such a pivotal point in my young life that I feel obligated to share it with you. I’m sitting in a cafe, because, Weevils Instill Fear Incredibly.  A.k.a. Wi-fi. It is a small cafe.  One little room.  There are three other people here.  A woman drinking coffee alone, and a man and his wife with their baby, catching a late brunch.  I guess that makes four people but who has time for those kinds of details. Anyway, the point is, I’m not inconspicuous. There’s no rush, no crowd. And yet...(here I had to pause to let the tears flow for a moment)...an employee came into the room five minutes ago with a tray of cinnamon rolls. Orange glazed cinnamon rolls. I could hear her (five feet away) offering them to the other people in the room.  “Would you like a sample?  Fresh baked, orange glazed cinnamon rolls...we’re trying to promote our bakery...yum yum!” She offered cinnamon rolls to them all! ...

All I have for you today is a word (or 11) of wisdom.   Ahem.  Picture me stroking my beard a little.   ‘Kay.    Stop taking yourself seriously and start not taking yourself seriously seriously.  ........ .............. .......................................

If you can’t find someone to complain about in your daily life, then I prescribe a nice road trip.  Other drivers are a constant source of novel irritations.   I’ve been honked at for refusing to pull into the path of an oncoming freight train.   I’ve been rear-ended.   I’ve been blinded by high beams in my rear view mirror.   All the usual.   But other drivers are endlessly creative.    For example, as I was traveling homeward last week on a visit to my parents, the genius in front of me suddenly hurled a banana peel out of their window.   I know it was a banana peel, because after the initial unidentified blur and jolt of shock, I found it clinging to my windshield in a state of slimy disarray.   When I sent my windshield wipers out to do battle with it, it impaled itself upon them and I didn’t get it off until I found a place to stop an hour later.   Banana peels do not make good traveling companions.   Ironically, I...

Happy Valentine’s Day, world! This post is divided into several sections for your ease and enjoyment.  Please eat some chocolates while reading, because you know what?  Sometimes being cliche is a good thing.  (Hint - if you always eat chocolates while reading my blog, then no one can accuse you of being cliche on Valentine’s Day.  HA.  Beat that reasoning.). Section A:  Three things to make you smile if you’re single today: 1.  The word “chocolatier”.  It’s a real word.  I’m not sure exactly what it means but it sounds just great. 2.  Pink and red sparkly things.  Made more enjoyable by your utter freedom from the pressure to purchase any of them. 3.  People who wish you “Happy Single’s Awareness Day!”  Listen.  You could be offended.  You could be tempted to pull a fake boyfriend (or girlfriend) from your pocket and brandish him (or her) menacingly.  You could even be tempted to buy a Valentine’s D...

Speaking of the Lord of the Rings.   What would happen if you crossed the worlds of LOTR and Jurassic Park?   My inner 8-year old is casting doom and destruction on my head for having such a blasphemous thought, but too bad for her.   Here’s what I think would happen:  A lot of people would die, obviously, but it’s okay because most of them would be orcs anyway.  Then at the end, the tyrannosaurus would eat Sméagol and the ring and everyone would be chasing him, waiting for him to poop it out, but before that could happen, velociraptors would lure him over the edge of the flaming abyss inside Mt. Doom, so the raptors would actually save the day!  And then anyone who wasn’t already dead would die and velociraptors would take over Middle Earth, except for Gandalf and one hobbit of his choice and Shadowfax, because Shadowfax can run 80mph.  They would make haste for the grey havens and live peacefully there.  Until the raptors had the urge to migr...

I like to run .  Sorry.  If you don’t, that’s cool.  You smell better than I do. Personally, I use running as a way to de-stress, to put life on hold, to think things through...sometimes to not think about things or do things that I should be thinking about and doing.  It’s a great way to procrastinate.   “Have you done those ten super important things that you need to do to survive and/or maintain crucial relationships?” “No, but I went running and I thought about avocados and dinosaurs and my next blog post!!!” It’s also one of the only times I feel comfortable in my own body.  I feel free, and I don’t give a bleep what anyone thinks of me.  Everybody has a way of achieving this state of carelessness.  Some people do drugs or play video games for 73 hours straight or travel or buy new outfits or lift weights or eat only puréed kale granola goo packets — I run. None of that was funny.  But I feel it’s important for you to have a...

TREES.  THEIR PARENTS ARE NUTS.   JUST LIKE YOURS.   HUG ONE TODAY.

I’ve compiled a list of people who have no reason to live.  I’m sure it could be longer but my conscience is already bothering me, poking me with its bony little finger and whispering, “Remember that annoying thing you did the other day that probably drove fifty people to suicide, just so they wouldn’t have to share the globe with someone as irritating as you?  Hmm?” Be that as it may.  My list still stands.  If you are one of these people, I recommend you change your ways or stop reading right away.   1.  Bikers and skiers.  Who wear tight little suits.  But aren’t professionals.  And who take over the walking trails in winter and the roads in summer and expect all others to bow to the whims of their hobbies. 2.  People who wear tight little suits of any kind. 3.  People who think whispering is less of a disturbance than quiet speech.  How.  How can you think this.  Even super smart amazing people think this, but...

Hey World.  I’ve been having some pretty vivid nightmares lately.  This has caused me to delve into my past, in hopes that I might unearth an explanation for the dreams.  Freud or some dude said that most disturbances in life are caused by childhood trauma, so today, I have decided to privilege you with the story of one of my very deepest, darkest, disturbingest childhood memories.  Is it traumatic enough to cause my nightmares more than fifteen years later?  Yeah, probably not.  But hey, if writing it down proves to be all magical and therapeutic, I’ll let ya know so you can, like...write down traumatic experiences in a public space in hopes of healing your scarred minds as well.  Ever’bodies doin’ it!  Anyway.  On to the story.   Once, when I was very young, but old enough to know better, I had a strange horror of an E.T. doll belonging to one of my friends.  Actually, it belonged to her little sister.  I could hardly wrap ...