Recent conversation with Brenda:

Brenda: How was your day?

Me: It was going so well until I got chased by a police dog.

Brenda: Oh, sweet lord, why was a police dog chasing you?

Me: I'm not sure. Maybe it was the Beggin' Strips t-shirt I was wearing.

Brenda: I told you that shirt was ridiculous.

Me: Whatever. But as a Public Service Announcement, if you're being chased by a police dog, try not to go through a tunnel, then onto a little see-saw, then jump through a ring of fire. Apparently, they're trained for that.


Web Junkie

Steve West scours the Web searching for interest or absurdity and then shakes his head ruefully when he finds it. Read more »

Lauren Peeks Into Imelda's Closet

Lauren is at Summer Camp until tomorrow and while she was gone, I sent her a card. It's become traditional for the card to be "shoe-themed". This year, the outside of the card featured a picture of the president awarding her a prize. Go »

Oscars 2012

Now that I can make no further changes to my picks, I'd like to hear about the categories people wrestled with most. I struggled most with costume, documentary and even adapted screenplay. Goodl luck everyone! Go »

Yes, I Would Like A Second Helping

Blasts from the past. Really bad album covers. Lame creatures from Star Trek. Go »

It's Not Just Rhetoric

A personal pet peeve of mine is the use of the phrase, "That's just rhetoric." As if the speech being referred to is meaningless and/or uninspiring. The word rhetoric is to be used to define speech designed to persuade. Go »

No Clowns On Halloween Allowed At My Door

Or "How Ronald McDonald Kicked My Ass" About ten years ago, shortly before Brenda and I got married, we attended a Halloween party at a friend's house. The primary reason to get together was obviously to dress up like we did when we were little but secondarily to get drunk as a sailor on shore leave. The standard "funny name" cocktails were offered like "sex on the beach" and "southern screw" and "raw sewage". Go »

Christmas and a Lizard's Tale

One Christmas when Lauren was eight, like a lot of girls her age, wished for a pony. My backyard at the time was about the size of a Volkswagen Minibus. Despite her assurances that she would let it roam the neighborhood for sufficient exercise, I said, “Not this year,” as I pictured myself following the horse with a pooper scooper. Go »