Episode 9

Star Wars fans are excited these days because we are all waiting for the title for the Episode 9. While we don’t know what it will be, I have a few predictions.

Star Wars
Episode IX

The Rise of Darth Jar-Jar

Oh Wait, There ARE More Jedi

Max Rebo Unplugged

It’s Not a Death Star, It’s Just Looks Like One

Jawas, Jawas Jawas!

The Erotic Awakening of C-3P0

Iron Chef: Battle Blue Milk

So those were The Droids We Were Looking For?

The Force Is Strong And Other Lies Obi-Wan Told Me

Is Life Day Wookie Christmas Or What?

That New First Order Smell

Empire Szechwan Strikes Back

Captain Phasma-Dead And Loving It

What Are The Avengers Doing Here?

Mrs. Greedo, A Widow’s Tale

On Tinder, Yoda Is

I Will Only See It Three More Times, Today…

Boba Fett Tries Boba Tea

My Dinner With Kylo

Rogue One Is The Loneliest Number

Posted in Thoughts

Half Dozen words per story

Move the chair, get a pratfall.

Are you unhappy, only when awake.

Too many good ideas, that’s rough.

Here’s a mystery, find my keys.

You can’t please everyone, even yourself.

Footprints in snow, disappear by morning.

Hear a noise, cat or burglar.

Memories are wounds that never heal.

Heroes or monsters, its all perspective.

Freedom on the road, city prison.

Heartbreak heals, ready for further punishment.

Exciting game but oh those commercials.

Super heroes perish for dramatic effect.

Posted in Short Stories

Everyday Haiku

As many of you know I’ve been posting D&D haiku on Twitter, @D_and_DHaiku. I’ve written some new haiku inspired by the everyday. Well, everyday in NYC.

Hope you enjoy them

We trudge to the store
One thing we but desire
Coke Zero sold out

Straight shot to Brooklyn
Trains depart like common sense
Once it’s the weekend

Rain pelts city streets
Quickly buy an umbrella
Please last till I’m home

Tourists love Time Square
Former home to porn and crime
Well, there still is crime

TV apartments
Spacious with amazing views
Lovely fantasy

Posted in Uncategorized

That Place, Part 19

Preparations were in full swing. In Druwich, for the Spring Flower Festival, and at “That Place”, for the event they had assembled for. What event is that, you might ask. That will be revealed in due time. No spoilers.

Margery, once she had returned put her considerable focus on the Spring Flower Festival, which from now on will be referred to a SFF. Everyone in town had something to do, it was on The List. Every year, The List was distributed, in the past, printed out on paper and passed out at town meetings, though nowadays it was all done digitally.

If you failed to do your job quickly enough or to Margery’s exacting standards, you would hear The Speech. I won’t transcribe it, it is VERY long, and quite frankly, condescending, but the upshot is that it made clear that you had little pride in your community and this was the first step towards the ruin of this town. It might be argued that pride in Druwich was in fact, an effort not to be lectured and looked down on. As far as Margery was concerned, it only mattered that these things were being done.

Very soon anthophiles (flower aficionados) would come to view the riot of colors, discuss in detail the details of arrangements, attend lectures, and most importantly of all, spend money. The SFF was a large slice of the pie for the town, economically, though the influx of passers through for the other event made it larger still.

Fortunately, for Barty in particular and the town in general, Margery remained ignorant of the brief disappearance of her only daughter. This was accomplished by a phone call to Constable Clive who had a brief chat with Lucy, pub owner and nexus of gossip in the town. The word rapidly got out that no one was to mention it and since being the focus of Margery’s ire was a thing to be avoided at all costs, the word was extremely mum.

Just as Margery was signing some papers that her daughter had handed her, invoices and such, Addington, the private detective was on the job.

He had reserved a room at a nearby town, Oakton, that was north of Druwich. Dressed in his sturdiest outdoors gear, he walked southward towards “That Place.” He was enjoying this job more than most, since it got him out into nature. This was lovely forest and he had already gotten some very nice pictures of some stoats.

From the research he had done, the property line for the “That Place” was very close, but he had only heard ordinary woodland sounds. It was odd that a large group of people should be so quiet. After a few minutes of carefully creeping, he saw a high stone wall.

This was not mentioned to him before. Since he was not equipped for climbing, he followed along the wall. It didn’t take too long for Addington to wonder, “How big IS this wall?” Something was wrong, he felt it. Not in the way Margery thought of wrongness, which came down to “This is different and I don’t care for it one little bit!”

He had an itch, not a physical one, but a feeling he got when something was off. The sensible thing to do would be to just go back to hotel, have a meal and pint or two, go to bed and drive back to London the next morning. Addington was about to do just that when he saw it.

It was sitting on rock, just to the right, a golden squirrel. Not the gold mantled squirrel, which was indigenous to Western North America, (which was only partially golden and really looked more like a chipmunk), but a glorious all golden squirrel. It’s coat shone against the muted greens, browns and greys of the forest. It could’ve been a statue until it cocked its head to look at him.

Addington had never seen anything like it, a completely new species. His mouth dry from excitement, he slowly raised his camera to capture proof of this amazing new creature.
As he did, the squirrel jumped to a tree. Addington adjusted to get the picture but then the little scoundrel moved again. This went on and on and that is how Addington patiently disappeared in to the woods.

Posted in Short Stories

That Place, Part 18

While Margery and Shrubsbury were traveling back to Druwich, something unexpected happened, Judy returned home. Barty, who had failed to mention their daughter’s disappearance to his wife, secretly hoped that she might just turn up, safe and sound. And that hope was manifested this fine spring morning.
Coming down to the kitchen to brew a strong cup of tea, he found Judy pouring herself a glass of orange juice.
“Morning daddy,” she said with a smile.
Barty, paused for a moment, so many times he thought he heard her come in, or call from the other room, but each time it was nothing but wishful thinking. But this time he could actually see her.
“Judy?” he asked.
She walked up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. This was happening. Barty grabbed her and hugged. Judy was home.
“It’s good to see you too,” she said with a laugh.
“I’ve been worried sick! Where have you been? Never mind, you’re home, that’s all that matters,” he said.
“Let me fix us some breakfast,” said Judy.
And with that she started to cook and Barty sat down, the weight of having to tell his wife that their one and only daughter had vanished. Now, any other parent would be full of questions, most would lay down some sort of punishment, but Barty felt as though he had been pardoned at the last moment. All that he had wanted to was for everything to go back to normal and that was happening.
Of course things were far from normal but in that moment, all seemed right with the world.
After a very large and excellent breakfast, which also should have been a red flag for Barty since his daughter always cooked him breakfast when she wanted something, Judy said this.
“Daddy, I need you to sign something for me.”
“Hmmm?” asked Barty.
Judy produced a document with the place to sign indicated by those bright neon sticker.
“What is this about,” he asked.
“It a permission form, just like when I went on field trips,” she replied handing him a pen.
“Right. Of course…”
Barty, who had left his readers on the nightstand, squinted at the document.
“It’s just the same old stuff daddy,” Judy said with a sweet smile.
You might think poorly of Barty at this moment, but remember, he’d had a rough few days and had little to no interest in questioning what he considered his enormous good fortune. So he signed.

Posted in Short Stories


Suzanne Hevner died this past week and the world is poorer for it. For those of you who didn’t have the joy of knowing her, she was a member of one of the funniest comedy groups I was fortunate enough to see perform, the Heartless Floozies. For the record, none of the members, Mary Denmead, Lucy Avery Brook, Gail Dennison, Emmy Laynorne Podunovich, Cate Smit, and Sheila Head. They all are hilarious, brassy, and wonderful.

I do have to admit, it’s been a long time since I saw her last. Unfortunately, as we get older, it’s easy to lose touch with friends.

While I had the opportunity to play with Suzanne any number of times, the thing I’ll remember the most was not her talent, though she had that in spades. She had a quality that is often overlooked, especially nowadays.

Suzanne was kind.

It’s a simple thing. I’m not talking about nice. Nice has become a descriptor that means that a thing is inoffensive. Kindness is born of compassion. When I think of the times I spent with Suzanne, which now seem far too few, I remember her kindness. I’m bedeviled that I cannot recall one specific example. That speaks more to my own faulty memory than any failing on Suzanne’s part. But she was kind and it made spending time with her a joy.

Comedy can be a harsh business, both in the struggle and the execution. But Suzanne could play a delightfully mean character on stage but drop it immediately once the scene was over. Part of that is professionalism, but a larger portion of it was who she was.

If I wrote thousands of pages it would not do justice to her. This seems a pitiably minuscule tribute. I simply don’t have the right words to say, if there are right words.

In the end, just try to be like Suzanne, offer kindness when you can. It’s not always easy, but she made it look effortless.

Farewell, you heart-full floozie.

Posted in Thoughts, Yes and so this happened

The good and the bad

It’s been a hell of year. Not just the political and social turmoil that we all experience day-to-day basis or sometimes a minute to minute basis. I have little to add to that conversation, wiser and more foolish people have already covered those topics.

For me, this was not a great year, I was outsourced from my job and have been looking for a new job, unsuccessfully, since that happened. I also managed to bash my knee, which kept me less than mobile for about a month.

Also, I had my heart broken. Perhaps not broken, but at the very least badly bruised. At this point of my life, it just leaves me feeling hollowed out. Which might be sadder than the break up.

My mom had a spill and ended up in the emergency room. She fell again as soon as we exited the hospital and back in we went. This was worse for her than I, but it felt like it took years off my life.

Last, and perhaps least, I ended my podcast. This was the right choice for a laundry list of reasons but I was sad that it was over.

And now for the good stuff.

I have a roof over my head, food and clean water, which millions of people lack, I can’t genuinely complain.

I don’t have enough words to talk about my mom. Lets just say she continues to support me, even when I’m not sure I deserve it.

I’m also very fortunate that I have friends who are generous, kind and supportive. It ranged from picking up the tab for lunch, a thoughtful gift, or just letting me vent. Sometimes all it takes is a sympathetic word.

We tend to think of wonderful and terrible things as being huge but the truth is that small kindnesses and tiny setbacks can tip you towards laughter or tears quicker than the big stuff. As Hank Scorpio once said, “You can’t argue with the little things.
It’s the little things that make up life.”

That’s how I want to end this year, with an obscure Simpsons quote.

And scene.

Posted in Thoughts