pear, blue cheese, and fig tart with walnuts

felt a bit peckish this morning and searched the interwebs for something suiting my cravings.  couldn’t find anything that sounded just right, so made up my own recipe and ended up rather pleased with the results.


– frozen pie crust
– 6 fresh figs, stemmed and chopped
– 2 Tbsp honey
– 2 Tbsp sugar
– 1 pear, thinly sliced
– 1/3 cup chopped walnuts
– 1/2 cup blue cheese crumbles

1) preheat oven to 375
2) combine sugar, honey, and figs in small pot on stove. heat to boiling. stir well.
3) spread fig mixture in bottom of pie crust.
4). top with pear and blue cheese; sprinkle walnuts on top.
5) bake for 12 minutes or until crust is brown

‘sad songs for dirty lovers’

i wish i could go back to college. not in a re-live my youth way, or a professional development way, but in having the opportunity all over again as a 36-year-old. i don’t think i really ever took advantage of the amazing opportunity that college is. being sequestered in a relatively small space, your own world, with peers of equivalent intelligence, presented with a book of courses that you can pick from based on what interests you, with relatively everything you need within a 2-mile area, is something i’d really enjoy now as an adult.

i didn’t take college very seriously.  i didn’t do what i should have academically, and slid by.  how stupid is that.  when else in life are we given the opportunity to have our sole purpose be to learn about literature or art?  where we don’t have to worry about jobs, children, family, mortgages, etc.?  how idyllic is that?  was that?

maybe college shouldn’t be wasted on the young.  maybe we should be catapulted into the work force out of high school, where we can toil and earn with the energy and vigor of youth, while we think about what we want to do with our lives and the academic direction we should take.  then after that we could approach university life with more thought, dedication, appreciation.

or maybe it’s just me, and everyone else just got it right the first time.


‘a boomerang returns back to the person who throws it’

my login still works, and i remembered my password!  an auspicious sign.  it’s been two and a half years since i last posted here.  facebook has sucked up a lot of my need tp throw things out into the universe, and i’d like that to change.

things have changed.  i have changed.  clicking through the last couple things i wrote here, i feel a little mortified.  i guess i probably used to post when i was feeling most tumultously overwrought, but…  jesus.  i certainly don’t think i’m nearly as emotional as i once was.  thank god.  just reading my own words is exhausting.

i am pretty content (don’t get happy!).  i love living alone and doing my own thing.  reading my entries of trepidation of todd and zane’s departure from this house seem like a lifetime ago.  the breakup was by far the right decision, and probably far too long in coming.  i let unhappiness become my norm.  that’s so sad for me to think of now.

i do my own thing.  i love that.  my desire to date and mate for life has waned to practical nonexistence.  i feel like i know so few happy people because everyone is so stressed out juggling their families/significant others/jobs.  i like being able to focus on …  whatever i want.  i like not having to run things by someone else, and doing things on a whim.

i feel slightly defensive of this lifestyle.



Life: That 70s Show

I found a body when I was four.


There is an old photograph of me, baby-faced, with a shock of strawberry-red hair showing as I looked through the glass of a green motorcycle helmet. The photograph is rounded on the corners, taken with a 110 camera. The owner of the helmet was a friend of my dad.


Every few years, I get a fleeting vision, or a thought of that moment. Of not understanding what that was, or why a grown man was laying there in the bathroom, why there was something all over the floor. Shampoo isn’t that color. Why is he sleeping there on the floor?


I remember … something … There’s a moment that’s not there in my mind anymore. Except that it’s an empty spot where a memory should be. Reading a book, you can tell a page was torn out. It’s like that, but in my head. There is a parent there behind me, and then I am downstairs in the living room again. And policemen come in. One sits down and starts reading a book to me.


And then it’s over.


The memory just ends, like a recorded conversation that’s run out of tape.


In later years, my parents would fill in details around the edges. About his parents. About how he did it. About why he did it. And even though I never really acknowledged it before, it has had a not inconsequential effect.


I often wonder about the ways our lives are steered not only by ourselves but by the events in our lives, how those events become what we consider “ourselves”. If actions are rocks dropped in still pools, how has this rock rippled through me?


Today, while I was tumbling this memory through my mind like a pencil between my fingers, I was struck by an irony: a man hours away from committing suicide, wearing a motorcycle helmet.

Life: nightlights


Midnight tolls

As thunder rolls

Out across the valley

Life: Five Spot

“Hey, this is one of the old fives!”


I was surprised he’d noticed. An aficionado of small bills? It was an old bill, back when dollars looked like dollars and not like overly-green interpretations of European bills with giant heads beaming from outside the scrollworked frames I’d come to know as a kid. I’d had this bill in my possession, more or less, for nearly twenty years, and now that small, covetous part of me felt a pang of regret letting it go. My uncle had given it to me along with the remaining amount to apply to a professional organization. I’d put it and the application aside and forgotten about it until going through some old boxes this summer.

I recognized the gloves he was wearing to shield his hands from the cold: the thin, work gloves you buy from the hardware store for $1.99. He was wearing a hoodie, hat, and though he looked younger, the hair on his chin was speckled with gray.

“Thanks. Know anybody that’s hiring?”

“No. Afraid not.”

“Well, thanks.”

“Good luck,” I said, and drove off, tucked warmly and safely in a new, plush, family sedan on my way to buy a frivolous coffee that would run nearly as much as I’d given him.

the more things change…

Looking back, it was a great run. Over ten years of blogging by several dozen friends. We started from nothing and we rode the wave, riding high in through the first boom and bust of the internet.

Then Facebook and the iPhone came along and attention wandered. There wasn’t as much a need for online diaries. Things changed and we took our eye off the ball. One by one, people went other places to talk and share.

And I grew more private. The guy who had a webcam in his den and then bedroom for years, the guy who wore a camera for his Master’s thesis, the guy who shared every bit of his life, stopped. There is more than one reason for this, but it happened. And I think it happened across the internet — privacy became a real thing.

Jump forward to now. We haven’t posted to here in almost a year — any of us. Traffic still comes, but it’s a roller coaster ride of odd search terms, churned up. We’re usually a pass-through, pointing to some other site.

The question comes up — what to do? Leave the site up, unchanged? Hope the tides shift back to us? Archive it? Pull it down entirely, relegated to a zip file on a harddrive?

The past several months has seen an insane increase in hacking attempts on the site. Stupid defacements and weird hacks on the user accounts. I’ve locked it down somewhat, but I don’t really have the time or motivation to deal with it daily.

It’s not what I want out of the site, out of the system.

So I think I’ve finally reached a conclusion on what to do with the site.

I’m going to archive it. And start over. As a document of ten years online, the site is amazing. 7,400 posts. 25 different authors. Spanning 2000-2011-ish.

We had an excellent ride and whatever I throw up here next, wherever it goes, in whatever direction, will be fun as well.

And if, for some reason, it’s something you want to be a part of, let me know. I can tell you that for all of my frustration with the “community” of the internet these days, I’m a long way from done with it.