Lucky Me.

 

Lucky me.

It only cost $25 this time. And three hours of my life I won’t get back.

Every spring, the house reminds me who’s boss.

A new broken pipe. Or two. Sometimes more. Always outdoors.

The indoor plumbing is mostly civil.

The yard, though?

It’s a calamitous, confounding network of shallow-buried pipes laid like a drunken game of Tetris over decades.

The frost heaves the ground.

The ground breaks the pipes.

The pipes break my resolve.

Back in winter, one line froze and started gushing.

I ran to shut off the main outdoor valve—just in time.

The valve stem sheared off as I turned it.

Good thing it happened after I got it closed.

If it hadn’t, this post would be about a flood.

I left it like that for months. Let the problem hibernate. It was too cold anyway. The ground was frozen.

Now that the frosts are gone, I went out to assess the damage.

I thought I’d be digging deep, replacing the whole mess.

But somehow—miraculously—I managed a workaround.

New tool. Bit of pipe.

And now the valve turns on and off slowly, and with some trepidation. And that's good enough for me.

For now, anyway.

Lattes & Loitering, Episode 52: A New Book (with a twist)

It started, as these things often do, with a book.

Not a new book, exactly—just new to me. One of those titles that practically taps you on the shoulder from across the digital aisle:

13 Things Mentally Strong People Don’t Do.

Catchy, right?

Enough to make me hover over the “Buy Now” button for a moment.

But then I pictured it—the sorting facility, the barcode scanner, the box making its journey across three states and four highways just so I could sit in a café and feel slightly more emotionally fortified. And I thought: maybe not.

So I let the AI do the lifting.

In a few minutes, I had a clean, thoughtful summary. A clickable mind map. A podcast voiced by two eerily calm digital humans, swapping insights over a topic they technically can’t feel.

And honestly?

It was enough.

I didn’t burn any fuel. I didn’t wait three days. I didn’t add another object to the great domestic archive of unread personal development literature.

I got what I came for. And then I lingered.

Because sometimes strength isn’t about doing more.

Sometimes it’s about knowing when not to.

And loitering with a latte, apparently, still makes the cut.

Here's some clickable stuff:

• PDF summary 

• Simulated podcast

Mind map of '13 Things'

Oh, and speaking of loitering:

Red Hats, Cold Feet

Meet MAGA Mick

Something new is brewing.




I’ve started work on an animated cartoon—limited animation, to be honest. We’re talking slow blinks, head tilts, awkward shuffles. The kind of movement that mirrors the mental gymnastics of a man caught in a moral midlife crisis.




His name is MAGA Mick.




He’s a dyed-in-the-flannel Republican. Trump voter. Used to shout at the TV. Used to own more flags than shirts. But now… something’s shifting. Not all at once. Not dramatically. But enough that you can see it in his eyes.




The man’s starting to wonder.




The cartoon is satire, yes—but it’s not a hit job. It’s a portrait. It's short and punchy. A study in contradiction. A bit of absurdity laced with humanity, because that’s the most honest way I know to explore what’s happening in the bones of this country.




Mick is fictional. But his story? It’s everywhere.




The project will grow slowly, the way real doubt does. A still photo is the one above. No voices or narration, just a lot of cards that, one after the other, probe the unsettling issues gnawing at Mick. This is my attempt to speak to a fracture in our collective story using the only tools I’ve got: humor, pixels, and a deep love for asking inconvenient questions.

Shrek Rehearsal Continues Apace

Getting there. We're about a month away from the premiere.

Dog Walk In The Rain

 

Rainy all day, but they need their exercise.

The park, emptied of everyone

except me and the dogs—

tails up, noses down,

Bella with her tug ball,

oblivious to weather,

or maybe made for it.

No voices. No cars.

Just the soft drip of water meeting earth,

and the rhythm of paws

in soaked grass.

We got wet.

We didn’t mind. Nothing a car towel can't fix.

The world had stepped out,

and left the silence to us.

BB Gets Attacked. A Bad Day At The Park.

It happened too fast.

My little dog Beatrice—BB—was ahead of me, doing what she always does in the park: sniffing, patrolling, trotting just slightly too far, like she’s got her own errands to run. I was trailing behind, letting her be her scrappy, independent self.

Then I heard it. A scream. High, sharp, unmistakable.

It was BB.

I ran. Not thinking, not planning. Just running. The kind of sprint your body invents when you hear someone you love in pain.

Two larger dogs had gotten her. I don’t know what set them off. I only know they backed off when they saw me barreling toward them. And their owner? Said nothing. Did nothing.

No apology. No concern.

Just… silence.

I had to yell—really yell—to get her to leash her dogs and put them in her car so we could have a “chat.” And we did. I let her know, in no uncertain terms, that what happened was not just unacceptable—it was burned-into-my-memory unforgivable. The owner is older than I by about 10 years. I'm not proud of what I said, but it could have worse. "You're too old to be this dumb! YOU are responsible for your dogs behavior. What the fuck is the matter with you". I felt like throwing a rock through her window. 

Let’s just say: I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again. If I do, it won’t be a quiet reunion.

This is the second time BB has been attacked recently. And Bella—my other dog—was hit by a pit bull a few months back. So yeah, I’m thinking about carrying bear spray now. Not because I want to use it. But because I don’t want to be helpless again. And, as bad as it sounds, I believe in retribution.

BB is moving gingerly today, a little slower, a little sore—but she’s here. Still wagging her tail. Still showing more grace than I’m capable of.

Dogs are like that.

They forgive faster than we deserve.

Nana and the Elephant. A Story and an Instant Podcast.

 

I decided to test out some of Google’s newer AI tools—specifically, NotebookLM. I was curious about their podcast generation feature, and figured: why not throw something personal into the machine and see what comes out?

So I uploaded a story—one I’d written about a conversation I once had with my grandmother, Nana.  A quiet memory, dusted off and given a slight narrative shine.

I fed it into NotebookLM, clicked the “generate podcast” button, and waited. It took about 15 minutes.

Below is the story.

And then—what the AI did with it.

Playing Ukes With The Ladies For Valentines Day

I love getting together to play ukuleles with this group of fun people. For Valentines Day we met as we usually do at our local toy store and sang torch songs together. Bella loves going there too, especially since the place doubles as an ice cream shop (she's fond of vanilla). Look for her. She's partially obscured. I'm in the santa hat. (For Valentines Day ???)

Lattes & Loitering, Episode 51: What Passes for Bliss on a Tuesday Morning

There's a particular cup at my favorite café in Quincy, Brew haha.




It's not just a cup, it's the cup—the one they always seem to hand me, even if I don't ask. Red on the outside, patterned like someone took the time to make something decorative just for the joy of it. Thick-walled. Just the right heft. It fits the hand like it knows the weight of slow mornings and second chances.




And the drink? Always the same.




Not out of habit, but because this one is just… so. It lands perfectly in that narrow gap between bitter and comfort, with milk frothed into silk and a leaf—or a heart, or a flame—floating in the center like some caffeinated mandala.




I come here often. Same corner. Same chipped glass table. Usually with my fur babies. Same invisible rhythm of espresso, milk, and steam.




It's not profound. It's not life-changing.




But it's mine.




And in today's world seemingly wired for chaos and strife, there's something revolutionary in returning to a small ritual that asks for nothing but your presence and your gratitude.




Some days, this cup is enough.

Ogres!

Well, it happend, I’m back in another production at the West End Theatre in Quincy, CA.

This time it’s Shrek: The Musical—a tale of love, layers, and swampy redemption—and I’ve landed a small but mighty role as Papa Ogre. That’s right, I’ll be kicking off the show as Shrek’s dear old dad, paired up with my longtime friend and frequent stage partner, Michelle Pfingston, who’s playing Mama Ogre. In this go 'round, we have the dubious honor of sending off our 7 year old son (Shrek) alone into a hostile world while celebrating it in song. Ain't show business somethin'!

It’s a brief appearance, but it comes with something I don't mind doing: singing. In front of people. On purpose.

The show opens in May, just in time for Mother’s Day, and it’s packed with adorable characters, fairy tale chaos, and enough heart to fill a whole swamp. I’m keeping my time commitment light this round—just dipping my green toe back in the performing waters—but I couldn’t resist the pull of the stage. Especially with this cast, this crew, and this story.

Sometimes the best way to keep the joy alive is to take a small part in something big.