How About That

How About That

Dear Sir, My apologies that this awful news arrives so close to the holidays but I had some difficulty tracking you down. Your friend, Mme. Valentina Velasquez, has died. Her death was sudden, unexpected but painless, if that eases your mind in any way, and I do hope it does.

How to Make a Delicious Breakfast from Thanksgiving Leftovers

How to Make a Delicious Breakfast from Thanksgiving Leftovers

If your morning has gone anything like mine, then you’ve spent it scraping dried-up cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes off piles of unwashed plates and wine-stained glasses. Why is it that the scrumptiousness of a Thanksgiving meal is directly proportional to the disgustingness of cleaning it up? Anyway, I’m working

Annalee

Annalee

Annalee was her name. I say was because she’s no longer with us but you should know she was my Aunt Annalee and she was forever saying strange things to me like, “You’ll never understand what’s sitting inside or outside the ocean, so the best you can do is try.”

A Terrible Day And A Tree

A Terrible Day And A Tree

From: Henry Littlesworth To: Marcus Trevan Subject: Your Job It’s over. Fax Me Up LLC is closing shop, effective immediately. Funny I should write this to you over email, the very thing that killed my fax business. Well, Rainforest Online Services killed us, too. Damn devil of a company. People

Christmas Eve In Newport Beach

Christmas Eve In Newport Beach

I know tonight is all about eggnog and family and playing ’90s board games and walking in snow reflected by the dancing colors of twinkly lights, so instead of a long story to read I leave you with this one photo I took at The Wedge earlier today. It reminds

Pizza Cat

Pizza Cat

The rumors are true. The Pizza Cat is real. How do I know, you might ask, skeptical gleam in your eye, that such a creature exists? Have I seen this mystical, mozzarellical thing and lived to tell the tale? Did I run into one, many moons ago, stumbling out from

A Morning With Mr. Moonshine

A Morning With Mr. Moonshine

It was early morning in early fall. The world was dark, as it tended to be on autumn days such as this, newly unfolded and still smudgy from whatever was left of the night. A hum, low but gentle, rumbled not far behind Peter Luck, who was speedily making his

Moonlight Serenade

Moonlight Serenade

There was no way around it: Luna had lost the moon. The revelation was quick but biting and it happened last night around dusk. She had been sitting with her cat, Marama, on the hill overlooking a town fading to pale, evening blue and there assumed her usual moon-watching position:

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