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Showing posts from November, 2016


This is not a commentary on the latest fitness fad. Because if it were, the little I'd have to say on the subject would be largely derogatory. I simply cannot see see how crouching in a stuffy, dark, cramped room surrounded by sweat-drenched strangers while expending a lot of energy and going nowhere deserves to be called fun, though aficionados tell me it is (fun). I tell these aficionados that if no pain no gain is your thing, discomfort can be had for a lot cheaper than $50 an hour. Try plucking your nose hairs. What we don't do for the sake of beauty. This endurance heir to the Stairmaster and elliptical is all hype. There's a name for the type who likes to run (or otherwise move) in place. It's called a hamster. 

This reminds me of a joke my father likes to tell, about what living with a woman turns a guy into. You go from a wolf to a sheep to a hamster. After nearly 40 years of married life, my dad has added cockroach to the zoological lineage. Which I'm sure …


I was in Brazil, my reason for being there I won’t get into, but suffice it to say that the trip had gone all wrong, my traveling companion and I were at one another’s throats, and I could not have been more miserable. I was a man adrift. I suppose I had it coming, for trying to convert a lesbian.
What do I mean by this? Simply that Marisol had a preference for girls, I am not a girl, and I was bent on persuading her to have a preference for me. Well, I failed miserably.
One night, when I was feeling particularly down, I even wished death on myself.  I said, Take me. It may have been Kill me. I really can’t remember. At the time I was very drunk, or more accurately, in that no man’s land between supreme intoxication and a blistering hangover. Its synonyms are oblivion and . . . but I drift. I am a man adrift. A stranger in a strange land to which I had come with the very specific intention of writing a novel based on my romantic conquest. Sad…