seven things you don't know about me

1. My hair parts naturally on the right but when I’m in Australia, it parts naturally on the left.

2. I lost the fifth-grade spelling bee on the word “professional”.

3. I have never spelled it wrong since.

4. I spelled it with two f’s. I still remember my teacher’s extremely pained look.

5. She wanted me to win. It was obvious.

6. I’ve never actually been to Australia.

7. I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.

toby, part II

Possible alternate or further endings to this story:

Ending #1:

Two days later, Kevin, another kid from the neighborhood, told me that Mr. Harbaugh had paid him to feed Toby while they were on vacation. “He didn’t thank me or pay me or anything!” I’d already spent the five dollars. I patted his shoulder consolingly.

Ending #2:

There was no Kevin. Toby lived on toilet water. That is all.

Ending #3:

Kevin was hired to feed Toby but didn’t do it. Sharing more with Kevin Spacey than just his first name, he had starved Toby while giving triple rations to the Shannons’ dog Mitzy, who was found bloated and unable to fit through her pet door to relieve herself. Later, there was a terrible scene involving Mrs. Starkweather’s cat and a very small cardboard box.

toby, inadvertent pet abuse, and blogging

I forget I have this blog and when I remember, it's a jolt to the heart, like remembering in a dream that you left a baby in the backseat of a cab.

When I was nine, my neighbors the Harbaughs went on vacation to Florida for a week. I remember I was jealous because we weren't going on vacation that year, unless you counted a day at Six Flags which I did not.

The Sunday the Harbaughs got home, their garage door was up and I wandered over to see if their kids had interesting souvenirs or sunburns or anything else worth seeing. Mr. Harbaugh came out and presented me with a crisp five-dollar bill and gave me a pat on the shoulder.

I was thinking, this is a weird souvenir to bring a nine-year-old. What, they didn't sell sand-dollar magnets in Florida anymore?

Then I found out from one of the kids that Mr. Harbaugh was paying me for feeding their dog while they were on vacation. I had absolutely no recollection of being asked to feed Toby and I certainly had not fed Toby or even thought of Toby once in the previous seven days.

That dog lived seven days on nothing but toilet water.

When I remember this blog and I get that jolt, I often think fondly of Toby. Hopefully my blog is as robust as he was.

cusack is poe

Yes.

steve king's magic bucket memory

Stephen King, in his book On Writing, says that you shouldn’t write your ideas down. If they’re good, you’ll remember them.

God bless him. I imagine he has a brain like a bucket with a hole in it. A magic hole where only the bad ideas fall out.

My brain is more like a wind tunnel combined with a sieve. An evil mutation that gives me a whole lot of ideas and lets me retain none of them. Unless I write them down. So I do.

I’ve had so many times when all I remember of an idea is that I had it and I thought it was incredible. Steve would say that idea sucked or I would have remembered it, but I forget everything, good or bad. This is proven by my journal, which to me is a revelation after three days. I read a blog post then scroll down to leave a comment, spot a comment that says exactly what I had intended to say, then I realize I wrote the comment myself a week ago. And I have no memory of reading the post or writing the comment. My bucket has no magical bad-idea-losing hole. My bucket is all hole.