Author Archives: didofoot

I have decided it’s time to get an enormous tattoo on my back. This will consist of a beautiful, wise, personally meaningful yet universally appealing quotation from one of my favorite authors, set in an attractive font snaking sideways up my spine. But what to choose? There have been so many phrases over my lifetime … Continue reading »

Ms. Foot began to argue with Mr. Wood not long after she began courting him. It started in the course of one of their habitual walks about the neighborhood, after they had been walking for some time uphill against the Market Street winds. “Come,” said Dido, “will you not take my arm? For I am … Continue reading »

Mr. Wood was a tenant of Noe Place, a fine estate within walking distance of Dido’s own more modest home, Five Corners. He had a small party of gentlemen staying with him there, a Mr. Keane and Mr. Small. Mr. Small excited the neighborhood’s notice for the first three days of his residence there, for … Continue reading »

There was once a young lady of middling fortune who, having achieved the lofty age of three-and-twenty, and possessing all the wisdom and sense which the age of three-and-twenty generally bestows, thought she could do no better than to be married at once. Accordingly, she went to her mother with the news that she would … Continue reading »

A year ago I was evicted from my first Castro apartment. Now, at long last, here is my landlady’s eviction letter in its entirety. Hope that this brightens your day as much as it did mine. (The reference to paint on the computer is because I had mentioned to her that her workmen accidentally painted … Continue reading »

Those of you interested in the progress of our most fascinating friend Dan will probably enjoy this slightly abridged email from him (and I hope Dan will not mind my sharing it). Once you’ve read it, kindly put your brain to work in figuring out which organ I ought to sell to raise the money … Continue reading »

Last night I hung out with Frank for a bit, and as always could not resist bringing up the Sicilian. Talking about an old flame is like smoking a guilty cigarette behind the building with the guys in Shipping & Receiving. I get dizzy and I swear a lot, and I try to act aloof … Continue reading »

Today I am tapioca pudding, a creamy taupe, slightly gelatinous, a slide of sugary mucus, a thickening tongue. I am a big wobbling blurp of tapioca pudding with two watery eyes peering fretfully around folds of squish, and a small blinking red light of a headache dit-dit-dit-ing, the glow just barely visible through the rapidly … Continue reading »