Mr. Biscuit’s Rotten Summer

Mr. Biscuit is my best friend. Every morning around sunrise, I wake to his soft, staccato chirp at my bedside, and I peel back the covers to make room for him to join me. With a tiny grunt he springs up to the bed’s surface; it’s about the highest leap he can muster with his lone rear leg. I touch my left-hand fingertips to my side, making a ring of my arm and ribcage, and he curls himself therein. I pull the covers over him. He purrs happily. I go back to sleep until my alarm sounds.

The Cupboard: Phoning It In Since 1972

I recently traveled to a small city somewhere near the boundary between the Midwest and the Pacific Northwest. If you want to meditate on the folly of nostalgia, there’s a restaurant you should try.


In the town of Andover, in the bowels of a stark IRS building, racks of blinking servers hum gently as they ingest packets of e-file data via ZMODEM protocol.

Man Alone With Salad

Today’s salad started like every other, with a bed of spinach. I hear that eating lots of raw broccoli might help stave off death for some brief period of time, so I put broccoli in there next. After the broccoli, I piled on various other things including bits of raw bell pepper, both red and orange.

I Hired an Esteemed Cat Photographer to Take Photos of My Cat

Chanan is arguably the preeminent cat photography team in the country. The name “Chanan” is a roundabout abbreviation and concatenation of the husband-wife duo’s first names, Richard and Nancy.

Appearing to Be Well Read Not Cheap

The pile of unread publications on my coffee table attests to my knowledge of the names of publications that keep people informed on many and divergent areas of the cultural spectrum.

The Pile Of Coins On My Desk: April 5, 2013


Four Business Practices I Will Adopt From My Fourth-Grade Self …

… When I Eventually Abandon My Moral Compass And Set Out to Claim My Piece of the Pie

Better Lives for Me and for You

We’re gonna make millions.