I have been the satisfied owner of a neon yellow, aluminum frame, Trek bicycle since January 1991. I have gone in and out of bicycle shops through the years, but I’ve restricted my browsing to items of need rather than desire. In this way, I have substantially eluded the phenomenon known as “Post-shopping stress disorder”, or P.S.S.D. (pronounced “pissed”). References to P.S.S.D. can…
“This is going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you.” If you’ve been following my recent adventures, you know that I was talking to my poor iBook, just before I left it at the shop for repairs.
I feel guilty. I feel lonely. Most importantly, I feel bored. My five year old, Bondi Blue, original iMac hasn’t seen this much action since, well, I bought a new iBook almost three years…
Riding a bicycle to work during the rainy season in Florida is like rolling the dice and betting on a number between one and twelve. Here’s my summer forecast: there’s a 100% chance that I’m going to get awfully wet. There are two ways to accomplish this feat of aquatic proportions. One, engage your body’s temperature regulation system; or two, ride home in an afternoon thunderstorm. The…
They say you can never go home again. But what if you never left?
Things change. Jobs evolve and responsibilities are added. Streets widen. Landmarks are bulldozed and new ones take their place. People get older. Belongings accumulate, break, and get replaced. Friends find new opportunities and move away. New friends are made. Relatives pass away. Children are born. Coworkers move on to new…
I felt like a parent dropping their child off for the summer at camp. I decided that my iBook deserved a chance at a healthy life, so I dropped it off at my local repair shop for the old ‘once over.’ They said it could be a while before they could get to it, due to a bit of a back log.
I could almost see the look of betrayal on its cover as I left it there on the counter, at the mercy of this…
Once upon a time, there was a meeting in Clearwater. It was to be a glorious meeting between three government agencies, and the people who represent them. Anticipation ran rampant as more people filed into the room. Each side of the table came armed with enough ‘gotchas’ to destroy all of the egos in the room, five times over. One pregnant question hung in the room as the agreed upon time came…
Nothing brings the neighborhood together like a police chase. First, we heard the roar of engines as cars blew past our house (at the stop sign) at high speed. Next, we heard the doppler shift of sirens careening past. This repeated two more times, making us wonder if our house had suddenly been magically transported to Hell’s Kitchen. The gawker gang was out in full force, sharing descriptions…
This is a story of a man whose adventures will one day be remembered in song. This is the story of John, of the suburban warrior clan Kauffman.
“Yeah, though he walks through the shadows of the valley of Beth, he shall fear no tantrum.”
“Neither early hour, lack of sleep, looming holiday, nor foul taste of breath, shall keep him from his appointed rounds.”
“Sick to his stomach and he’s…
It started in the most unlikely of places; a peanut butter on wheat bread sandwich. All right, I’ll admit that wheat bread is a little suspect on it’s own (I’ll take my flour bleached and enriched, thank you very much!), but desperate times lead to hasty choices on the bread isle. In short (and with no further explanation), all I had was wheat bread to satisfy my hankering for a PB sandwich.