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THE SEQUEL

I’ve been a little busy the past few years. You know, mid-life crisis, divorce, destroying a cherished family life… And then there’s what I have been doing. So the kid and I got a house. It’s different from the house we moved into after we left California. Smaller. Older. Not in good shape. Filthy. I mean I didn’t buy it because it was filthy. And I wouldn’t say it was a fringe benefit. But it does give me something to do and a new hobby. Cleaning. People don’t really look at it as a hobby. And they’re right. It’s a pain in the ass. But a bigger pain in the ass is living in a house with ¼ inch of grime on the windowsills. I know. Because I did it. So I bought a new house. I don’t know that it’s ever been cleaned. It’s Not Tundra: The Sequel.
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THE LAST DAY IN PARADISE

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“ Isn ’t it cold there?” She asked me. “Colder than it is here,” I said. I was standing outside my son’s Third Grade classroom in Woodland Hills, CA [1] , waiting for him to let out so I could put him in the car and drive twenty minutes to wait outside a motel for my daughter’s middle school bus. I was talking to one of the other mothers. I say “other mothers” because many people think I’m a real mother – but perhaps the context is a bit different. “Does it go below freezing there?” She asked. We were talking about the fact that my house was on the market and I was moving my family out of Los Angeles, likely close to my hometown of Buffalo, NY. “Well, sure. I mean, it snows. It has to go below freezing.” She looked at me for a long time, obviously cogitating over the my weather report. “Don’t you die?” “Sorry?” “If you go outside and it’s below freezing --- don’t you die?” I like to tell the story of when I was working in Montreal. The first day I was there the...
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