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In Praise of Juvenile DelinquencyJuly 5, 2012
I visited upstate this weekend. My mother has a place on one of the Finger Lakes. A cozy yellow cottage right on the water with a long dock. It was warm and the skies were uncharacteristically clear and we had the kind of party that has become common in my family. Parents, step parents, step siblings, eccentric friends.
My Uncle Frank drove in from Ithaca and told a story about being drunk in (more…) In Memory of a Good GeniusApril 1, 2011 
Matthew at the shore
I didn’t. (more…) Another Thing You Don't Know About MeMarch 30, 2011 
These are nerd secrets I rarely speak about; the kind of aesthetically questionable activities that might associate me with renaissance fairs or science fiction conventions, not serious literary fiction or investigative reporting. But I can’t hide it anymore. (more…) Frogs, Cranes and Army Men on FireMarch 28, 2011 
Arson, Babyseats, and Dinner for TwoJanuary 14, 2011
I was putting a picture of me and E. into a new frame recently when I took the backing off and found a foodstamp. The old-school paper kind, printed with the words "food coupon." I suspect I put it there to remind myself of something. (more…)
Oh, I Would Not Give You False Hope...October 12, 2010
I get asked a lot of parenting questions these days and questions about being a single mother. I think this is partly because many of my friends and peers are having their first kids or raising toddlers, while my son is nearly grown—a brainy, wiseass musician entering college who is sweet enough to send me things like youtube videos of Mr. T singing “I pity the fool who don’t love his mother.” (more…)
Something to SaySeptember 8, 2010
When I was a child my favorite story was a piece by James Thurber that my mother used to read to me. It was called “Something to Say” and it was about an alcoholic writer named Elliot Vereker, an eccentric whose genius was confirmed by the number of terrible things he did; freeloading on friends, crashing parties, breaking light bulbs on the ground because he liked the sound of shattering glass, wrenching plumbing away from the walls and denouncing the achievements of those around him because they were all fools. Despite this he was loved and respected—seen as a guy who wrote something of substance. To my eleven year old mind, Vereker seemed the perfect role model. (more…)
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