How to get me out of the house.

I woke up early today to the sound of the ceiling collapsing.

No place like it.

It’s a funny thing: no matter where you travel to, or what the amenities are like, you never really feel clean until you’ve come home and showered in your own bathroom.

Good Morning!

Nothing more fun than being woken up by roofers working on your house, especially when “working on the house” consists mostly of banging on your bedroom window. Thank god I had the blinds closed.

Melt faster, dammit; I’ve got a flight to catch.

There’s probably a Home Ec manual from the 50s that gives idiot bachelors like me useful domestic advice, like “the day you’re flying out of town is not the best day to clean out and defrost your refrigerator.” Unfortunately, I’ve never read that manual.

Watch your step, indeed.

Apparently, this sound had been no ordinary urban muzak; a large chunk of my house had been stolen. Mysterious.

“Hot and Wet” should describe porn, not my living room.

I know Minnesota’s not nearly as humid as many other places. All I have to say in response is: thank goodness I don’t live in those places.

All creatures great and small

Between the pigeons roosting under my patio and the mice making a racket inside the walls, I’m starting to feel like I’m living on Noah’s Ark.