Richie’s TV was on the fritz, and Mom was parked in the living room watching her American Idol or The Apprentice or So You Think You Can Castrate a Dachshund or some other bullshit. He had to pull the old Magnavox from the back closet of the basement, its plastic belly bulging with tubes and capacitors. It was hidden behind three dusty boxes of old magazines that Richie relocated, swearing under his breath. When he wrapped his arms around the Magnavox, strands of sticky spider web clung to his hands like a mummy’s wrappings. They tore free with a sound like Velcro, and Richie swore he felt hairy legs scramble across the backs of his fingers.
Medium is a great site for readers, and I’ve been experimenting with using it to publish fiction. This is the first time this particular story has been available anywhere for free, and I hope you enjoy.
A friend shared this on Facebook this morning. It’s a compelling image, right? On the left, sepia-toned Americana: The classic farmer, in the field with his felt hat and his overalls. On the right, the modern farmer, his bright yellow hazmat suit protecting him from the dangers of his monster crops.
But of course, it’s pure deception. Continue Reading
A litle self-congratulatory post here. Feel free to skip and avoid the smug.
I have a bit of a weight issue. Specifically, that issue is that I care way too much about how much I weigh.
When I moved to New York City almost three years ago, I felt pretty good about my body. After years of fighting to lose weight, I’d dropped 30 pounds in mid-2010 and kept it off for two and a half years. I was the lightest I’d been since high school, and aiming to lose another 10-20 pounds. Continue Reading