Author Archives: didofoot
Hair shock
It’s like an old lady who gets her pet hamster stuffed after his death and puts him on her nightstand. Nobody needs to see what she’s got in her bedroom, and if they did see it they probably would think it was hideous, but it gives her comfort to know he’s there. This is roughly … Continue reading
Not a dream sequence
Last night the Lad and I went to see Duncan Sheik, but it gets weirder. We stood in a crowd of sensible shoes, expensive haircuts, bland sweaters and the whitest skins this side of England, people who had arrived in Saabs and cabs and would leave before the encore, wanting to get home and pay … Continue reading
100 typewriters and no Shakespeare
I only started to notice these monkeys over the past couple of weeks. It’s weird that I’ve lived in this city for three years, encountering pigeons, wild parrots, hummingbirds and cats, but had never noticed the monkeys. I like the little guys. But when they get in the house they’re a problem. They eat my … Continue reading
A Morally Questionable Post
BART has been taken over by pro-life posters. They are professional, compelling, slick, and truthful. I sat glowering at one as I rode out to the far east on Saturday, wishing I was a braver kind of person so that I could rip it down or write a scathing reply all over it, but also … Continue reading
Appetizers and a silly hat
My folks threw me a graduation ceremony last night. It was frequently referred to as a fake ceremony, but since it focused entirely on me instead of a class of hundreds, I felt it was pretty realistic and merely prefaced the way that the world will no doubt focus on me me me from now … Continue reading
Sizzle, Fizzle & Fry, Ltd.
Sitting with my folks one day on the shore of Lake Como, the Moms noticed I was wearing her cross from her days as a Catholic girl. “I’m surprised that doesn’t burn your skin,” she said. I don’t know if my sinning has increased lately or what, but today the cross seems to be gradually … Continue reading
The other side of my job
Given the high level of responsibility of everyone around here, I sometimes wonder if it is hard not to hate the girl whose job it is to sit peeling tape off the old keys.
My conversation with The World’s Angriest Man
My boss at Company X is teaching a university class this semester, because, I can only assume, he has decided that sleep is for the weak. Naturally it is my job to smooth his way through the bureaucratic nightmare, me having had so much experience working in the nightmare itself, which led to the following … Continue reading
I cannot feed on people to survive! [Sees person. Eats person.] Augh!
When Anne Rice writes the plot and Elton John writes the music, I dunno, maybe some mental alarm bells should go off. Nevertheless, Michele and I cheerfully coughed up $40 apiece for back-row seats at Lestat.
I am hungry.
My work friend, accusingly: Did you remember to eat lunch? Me: Yes. WF: What did you have? Me: A barracuda…steak… WF: … Me: And a tomato. WF: Where did– Me: And a pie! WF: What kind of pie? Me: Whole pie. WF: What kind of pie? Me, angrily: A whole pie! WF: … Me, amused: … Continue reading