I’m not sure that I will ever really find “home,” inasmuch as something that major that can actually exist for me (outside my parents’ house, which will always be Home), but there are times — like when we gear up for the ridiculousness that is Elvis Week and the denouement known as the candlelight vigil, or when I see a couple getting hitched in front of Sun Studio as I make that left turn on…
This time last year I was recovering from foot surgery. The doctor’s bandaging was bothering me something fierce, so I had my mom, a nurse, re-wrap it. She infused the fresh wrapping with extra mommy goodness and it felt great. Well, better. In the year since this photo was taken, my mom’s hands have grown increasingly useless to her. She’s got carpal tunnel syndrome, and has had bouts with its symptoms that were so bad…
It might look like this: Click to enlargify. HT: Pajiba
My iPod, which is roughly nine months old (originally I thought six, until I did the incredibly complex math), has apparently died. Everyone, please send good electronic vibes its way. Update — Thursday, 11:07 a.m. Hallelujah. After a grueling round of iPod CPR, I got the thing working again, and it didn’t even blitz my playlists. Note to iPod (scrollwheel) users: If for some reason yours goes to sleep and won’t wake up, even after…
You spend nearly every waking moment of the past few months psyching yourself up for the moment when you’ll demand your independence, when you’ll put a stop to that nebulous relationship that is equal parts frustrating and comfortable, that doesn’t have a label, necessarily, but that you know can’t be sustained forever because it’s smothering you both. And then you do it, you put your foot down, you make the call, you end it —…
1. Mail the rest of my effing Christmas presents. 2. Actually, no, this one’s all for me.
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