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.

Regrettable Impulse Buys: Trader Joe’s Edition

Purchased items that may or may not exist at Trader Joe’s.

Budget Super Bowl Snacks

Throwing a great Super Bowl party doesn’t have to mean shelling out for expensive, brand-name snacks.

You Can And You Will

Today Is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life

Mr. Biscuit. On the cusp of greatness, or at least of change. A new cabinet, a new life, just a jump away. But will he make the leap? Can he make the leap? He just needs a minute. It will just be a matter of moments. Let’s just watch and see. Very soon, I’m sure. Allow him to gather his thoughts. Take a deep breath. He’ll just save a little money first. Pay down a Visa or two. Then he’ll jump. Just wait. It’ll be great. You’ll see.

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 Ground, in a Tree, in the Sea

The latest from Billfold cemetery correspondent William Foster.

Elegant Mundane Things

Today in cemetery news.


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.